Freaky Family
by Lady Black Mage
Summary: After the events of Freaky Love, Batman and the newbie rogues search for a way to free Wraith and her brothers from the still-binding chains of their dark past. WARNING! Contains: Language, violence, canon-crossing, OCs, and OCxCanon.
1. Prologue

A/N: I do not own Batman: the Animated Series, The Batman, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form.** WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is the sequel to my other Batman: the Animated Series fanfic, "Freaky Love." I highly recommend you read that in its entirety before you read this.** Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Freaky Family" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery.

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Freaky Family: Prologue

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside the small apartment, throwing the interior into a brief, bright relief before fading, leaving only the rain that slid continuously from the sliding glass door. Outside the trees bent in the wind like bizarre hands, all pointing in the same direction. It was the sort of weather the Batman would have been perfectly comfortable in.

Jervis Tetch shuddered at the thought and turned his attention back to the laptop he'd placed rather precariously on a stool. Lines and lines of text scrolled down the screen monotonously, making his eyes droop. He shook his head, snapping himself out of it, and forced his attention back to the article he was reading.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Ever since the encounter with Professor Achilles Milo in the park that one evening, it had been eating away at Jervis as he tried to rack his brains and remember where he'd seen the man before. Before he'd met Erin, before he'd gotten wrapped up in all the nonsense surrounding Guenhivyre Pendragon…before he'd become the Mad Hatter. So he'd taken to scrolling through old archives on the websites of his former jobs, even the university he'd attended. After all, it was totally possible he'd gone to school with the man.

But over three months of searching and doubling back over the same material had yielded no results.

"Jabberwock's teeth." he cursed softly, shutting the laptop. A tiny moan came from beside him on the couch, and he jumped, turning to see if he'd woken Erin. But the redhead slept on, an unhappy expression on her face as she brought her hands up next to her head, fists clenching as though she were fighting off imaginary bandersnatches in her dreams. For a moment, Jervis allowed himself a small smile, brushing back some of her curly locks from her face, then frowned as he glanced at her left hand.

Clenched in Erin's fist, thrown into relief by the light reflecting off her engagement ring, was a note.

_The_ note.

Jervis's frown evolved into a full-on scowl.

Nearly two and a half months ago, the incident involving the ring of scientists after Guenhivyre Pendragon had been more or less resolved. Guenhivyre was a cheeky little upstart among the Rogues Gallery who'd been more or less a protégé to Jervis's best friend, Jonathan Crane. She'd insulted Jervis with that blonde wig, mocking his favorite piece of literature…but Jervis couldn't kill her like he wanted. Not when she was Erin's friend.

He glanced back at Erin again, stroking her hair and giving the note another dark look.

Even among the Rogues Gallery, Guenhivyre Pendragon had been utterly unique. Not because of her skill with a scythe, and certainly not because her accessories allowed her to become insubstantial, but because of her wings. She had two deep blue bird wings growing from her back, the result of a genetic experiment conducted on her as a child.

An experiment she'd just barely managed to escape from, with the help of Dr. Kirk Langstrom, and her older half-brother, who'd become the vigilante known as Incubus. As it had turned out, Professor Milo had been the scientist responsible not only for Guenhivyre's mutation, but also for the trauma that had consumed her childhood and locked away her memories.

The end result?

Guen's split-personality: the cold-blooded, venom-spewing spitfire known as Wraith.

Jonathan had adored her, probably because she operated so well under his tutelage. Edward Nygma had liked her, probably because he'd fallen in love with Guenhivyre. Jervis hated both sides of the young woman regardless. And Erin?

Erin, like so many other young women who were up and coming among the Rogues, had loved Guenhivyre and her other personality like a sister. The camaraderie of women was astounding.

In the end, Jervis, Erin, a vast number of their friends, and even the Batman, Robin, and Incubus had gone to rescue not only Guen, but also Ink and a girl named Stitches, who was an apprentice of the Joker's. Dr. Emile Dorian, a second scientist who'd been responsible for the mutation of Guen's paternal half-brother, Lancelot, had disappeared, both with Lance and the man-cat Tygrus in tow. Professor Milo had been released on probation, and Guenhivyre Pendragon, despite her sentence to Arkham with the rest of them, had been given a time of leave to spend with her mother, Clio Zeus.

But a week and a half into the time, and Guenhivyre had vanished.

She'd been tight-lipped and barely speaking to anyone before then, but suddenly, any communication with her had stopped entirely. A day later, Clio was seen on the news, sobbing hysterically, saying Guen had vanished from her apartment without a trace and begging her daughter to come back.

No one had heard from her since. Not until the note.

Jervis and Erin had spoken to all their friends, asking them to assemble for the big news, and everyone had met up at Jonathan's lab for it. Everyone had been happy to hear the announcement, and Ink had wanted to immediately throw a party, when Killer Croc had arrived on the scene, carrying a large bundle of envelopes. The envelopes had no addresses, no stamps, just names. There had been one for everyone, and they'd all received the same note. Not a letter, just a note bearing two words:

_Patience. Soon._

That was it. No signature, no explanation, just those two words. Ink had identified the writer as Guen, but said that the sharp angles of the letters were more like Wraith's writing, as though the two personalities had been overlapping when she'd scrawled the message. There had been a silent uproar, and all of the winged rogue's friends had been rather anxious since.

Erin in particular. She'd hardly let the note out of her sights since receiving it a week ago, usually carrying it in her hand or one of her apron pockets. Jervis saw her open it countless times, sometimes with tears in her eyes, sometimes with a smile on her face as though the little piece of paper were some holy shining beacon of hope. Sometimes she would even mouth the words, as though just by speaking them she could bring Guen back. The only person who was more obsessed with that piece of paper and those two words was Eddy Nygma who, they'd heard, had started picking fights and practically biting heads off if anyone dared to try separating him from Guen's note. Part of Jervis had been relieved by the arrival of the note, while part of him was infuriated. He had had to force-feed Erin most of the time after Guen had disappeared, and had gone to great lengths to try and pull her out of her depression. Now that she had the note, Erin was starting to eat regularly again, and was cheering up.

Regardless, Jervis was furious with Guenhivyre Pendragon.

She'd been on his blacklist before, but now, with what her disappearance had done to his darling Erin, it was all Jervis could do for the sake of love not to plot out the winged girl's death. She wasn't allowed to die; Jervis feared Erin would lose her will to live if she lost her friend for real.

But that didn't mean Jervis couldn't beat the cocky goth brat within an inch of her life in order to get the point across. The problem was trying to do it in a way that would keep Erin from witnessing such brutality.

Sighing once more, Jervis leaned over, planted a kiss on Erin's cheek, then flipped the laptop open again.

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A/N: Sorry, me again! Hope you liked that for a start! And for those of you who've already read all of "Freaky Love", this just goes to show you I've not forgotten the fact that Jervis still holds a grudge against Guen/Wraith, and he isn't letting go of it any time soon. R&R please!


	2. Chapter 1: Gerard's Discovery

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

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Chapter 1: Gerard's Discovery

The old mansion had a damp, empty feel to it, and the air was cold and stale in several places. It had been abandoned quite some time before. Abandoned, but not left to a state of disarray. Lancelot Pendragon had abhorred everything about his father, and when the inheritance had passed over to him, he'd fired most of his father's staff, keeping only a select few whose job it had become to maintain and upkeep the Pendragon mansion just enough so it wouldn't fall into disrepair.

The servants had been told they had this job in the event Lancelot ever chose to return to the mansion. Personally, they all thought such a thing would never happen; the young master was changed after he'd returned from that long vacation as a child to that bizarre boarding school, and more likely than not, he'd never come to his senses and open the Pendragon mansion again. And two months ago, the young master had vanished into thin air, leaving only his most trusted manservant to maintain and run his businesses, telling everyone that Lancelot had left on a short trip for his mental health.

Then a week ago, Lancelot had resurfaced and moved to the mansion.

One of the servants nearly had a heart attack and died from the shock.

Gerard surveyed the room before him with a measure of distaste, and it was only out of deepest respect for his young employer that he didn't immediately begin criticizing the poor efforts on the behalf of the older servants to keep the mansion in a habitable state. This turned out to be pointless, however.

"You are displeased, Gerard?" asked Lance, looking up from his notebook laptop, large dark green eyes observing him with a measure of amusement.

"Highly, Mr. Pendragon." he replied shortly.

"Do you honestly think you alone would have done a better job?" Lance asked curiously, turning his attention back to his laptop. Gerard curled his lip as he took in his surroundings again.

"I might have." he answered curtly, and to his astonishment, Lancelot threw his head back and laughed.

"Gerard, Gerard! Ahh, what would I ever do without you?"

Still recovering from the shock of having seen his normally stoic master laugh, the butler-turned-secretary crossed his arms. "Likely you'd have to do all of that scheduling on top of the paperwork, eh?"

"So modest, Gerard Montaine! I'm adding that to your profile!" Lance murmured, shaking his head as he typed, a smile on his face. Gerard blinked.

"My what?" he stuttered incredulously, moving around to look over his employer's shoulder.

"Your profile, Mr. Montaine. I'm making you a profile on a dating site." Lancelot replied, an uncharacteristically wide smile on his pale face. The manservant wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I don't date."

"Oh, but you will! You're too much of a workaholic, Gerard. You need to find a way to unwind, relax a little. And a few dates will be just what you need. You're pansexual, yes?"

"You're missing the point, Mr. Pendragon. I don't have time to date."

"Yes, Gerard, you do. And you will."

"You're only stuck on the idea because you met Ms. Harker."

"Yes," Lance murmured, a rather pathetic, goofy smile spreading over his face, "And she's magnificent."

"She stamped your forehead. Because you had fifteen different overdue materials. And she slapped your face after taking the check you wrote out for them."

"Yes, she did. And she's so honest and bold, unwavering in her beliefs and stances. Yet she can be calm and gentle and sweet, like a loving lady of noble blood."

"You've only seen her a grand total of five times, and each of those at the library. And she's still not accepted your offer for dinner Thursday night."

"Oh, she will. She will!" Lance said confidently, his keystrokes increasing.

"What in the world is going on out here?" asked a smooth, soothing voice. Both men turned to see an older redheaded man walking into the room, leaning on a cane, with a hulking gray-black figure trailing behind him.

"I'm simply amusing myself, Emile." Lance replied coolly, and Gerard had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything.

Unlike most of Lancelot's staff, Gerard knew the truth of what had happened in the young master's childhood, and he knew Dr. Emile Dorian was one of the men responsible for having turned the business tycoon into a werewolf. He also knew that his employer both feared and deeply respected and admired the scientist, but it still baffled him as to why in the world Lancelot had insisted that Dorian stay with him after he'd returned from his mysterious hiatus. And as for the man-cat, Tygrus…well, there Gerard allowed his boss a little leeway. There was much Lancelot and Tygrus had in common, and he imagined that Lance wanted Tygrus to stay because the two of them could understand each other far better than most people.

"Amusing yourself? I wasn't aware you had a sense of humor, Lancelot my boy." Emile Dorian chuckled, a small smile working its way over his features. The werewolf lifted his upper lip and let out a low growl.

"Is there something you need, Dorian?"

"Company." the scientist replied, taking one of the nearby chairs. Tygrus hung back in the doorway, looking awkward and blinking his large yellow eyes pitifully until Dorian said something. "Do come in, dear Tygrus. There's no reason why you can't join us."

"Thank you, father." the man-cat murmured, coming over to inspect Lance's work with the laptop.

"Are there any drinks around, out of curiosity?" Dorian asked innocently, and Gerard chafed. Dorian seemed to think that the best and only way he could even acknowledge the butler's existence was to treat him the way most rich British snobs did their servants, and that usually involved a lot of subtle, domineering "hints."

"You could always ask me to go fetch something, you know." Gerard spoke loudly and coldly, drawing his boss and the man-cat's attention.

"Then by all means, go do so, Mr. Montaine." Dorian replied coolly, his dark eyes boring into the younger man.

Huffing indignantly, Gerard stormed from the room, the long blonde curls of his ponytail smacking his face as he went. He was really starting to get fed up with Dorian, and half-wished Lancelot could be a _feral_ werewolf, just once, and rid them of the condescending dinosaur.

He was lost enough in angry thought that he took a wrong turn at a junction in the hall, and entered a corridor he'd not yet been to. He was starting to realize his mistake and head back, when a door caught his eye. It was made from the same wood as the rest of the doors in the house, but each of the panels had been meticulously and ornately carved with different scenes he couldn't quite make out from under their thick layer of dust. Still, something about the door struck a chord in Gerard's memory.

Images started to overlap.

A younger Gerard Montaine had been in this hallway, back when the mansion was open, back when Arterus Pendragon had been head of the household, and he'd taken a wrong turn that time, too. The hallway had been more brightly lit back then, and this same door was standing wide open, with people going in and out of it. They wore uniforms of a moving van company, and they were carrying huge, concealed cases into the room beyond the door, complaining about the weight of their cargo. Gerard had watched off to the side, then snuck past them into the room to see Arterus directing a few men where to put the crates. The older man had then begun talking rather feverishly to someone, a look of giddy triumph on his face that hadn't been seen in years. The young servant boy had been curious, but Arterus had also spotted him right away and shooed him from the room. He had left reluctantly, with Mr. Pendragon whispering in his ear, "Not now, Gerard. All will make itself clear in due time."

"Well now, Mr. Pendragon," Gerard murmured as the memory faded from his mind, "I'd say now's as good a time as ever to find out what you were up to. Heavens knows I need a break from Dr. Catface and his high-maintenance demands."

He slowly reached out and brushed some of the dust from the wood paneling to reveal scenes from Arthurian legend carved into the door. It was all so tiny and detailed, he couldn't find anything in particular that he recognized, so he merely shook his head, resolving to figure it out later, and reached for the door handle. His hand came back filthy with a layer of thick dust, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hand clean. He reached again and pulled hard, the door sucking away from its frame as though it had been in some sort of vacuum. The air in the room beyond was old and very stale, leaving him coughing as he entered.

"What in the world…?"

He found himself in what was presumably a ballroom at one point, with suits of armor lining one side of the wall and pushed back against the double rows of columns. One wall was facing out toward the grounds and garden, huge glass doors revealing a view of the ivy-choked fountain and broken stone paths beyond. Lightning illuminated the night sky for a brief moment, and his heart began to speed up. At the opposite end of the room was a grand staircase leading up to an overhead catwalk, more stairs, and several doors.

"Well, I do believe I finally found the stairs to the second floor." he muttered dryly. Ever since they'd come back, Lancelot had been determined to find the stairs that led to the high second, third, and fourth floors of the mansion, but his search had been utterly fruitless. But now it seemed there was indeed a hidden staircase, just as he'd thought. Gerard scanned the room again, and frowned as he tried to spot what Arterus had been keeping secret. Then, when the lightning outside flashed again, he spotted it. Something was being kept out of sight, hidden behind and beneath the staircase.

"Bingo." he said grimly, crossing the ballroom. It wasn't easy; the suits of armor seemed to be watching him, and the feeling made the skin on his arms crawl. He finally slipped behind the staircase, and tucked away in its shadow as a large computer. It was still dark and difficult to make out details, and cursing himself, Gerard fumbled in his pockets for a moment until he out the pocket pen flashlight he carried with him. He turned the mirror on it ever so slightly until a tiny beam of white light hit the wall and bounced off the computer. It seemed to be just that; an older, unremarkable 'super' computer.

But something was on it, just above the keyboard, taped in place.

Frowning, he approached it slowly and discovered it was an envelope. Sighing with disappointment, he gently pulled the envelope off and began to brush the dust from it out of habit.

Then his eyes went wide with shock.

"_Mon dieu_!" the words left his throat in a gasp as the envelope fell silently to the floor, face up.

It was addressed 'Gerard Montaine.'

"Oh, this cannot be happening! Oh, _mon dieu_! This is Twilight Zone material…" he murmured, crouching down to shine the flashlight on the envelope in disbelief. But there it was, with his name on it, written in the flowing, slanting handwriting that had once belonged to Arterus Pendragon. Hands shaking, Gerard transferred his pen flashlight to his mouth, holding it between his teeth, and picked up the envelope from the floor, prying it open. A sheet of paper, starting to yellow with age was inside, and when he pulled it free and unfolded it, it too was written in Arterus's handwriting. Lightning flashed a third time outside the glass doors, and he began to read.

_Dear Mr. Montaine_

_ I imagine it will be some time before you see this letter. Knowing my son, Lancelot will have moved out of the mansion for some time before returning. But just the other day you happened to come by the ballroom and see some men moving several crates covered with sheets into here. Don't try denying it; after all, I myself escorted you from the room._

_ Doubtless you now have questions, and I shall try to answer them for you._

_ You see, Gerard, I've a bad feeling. Have had it for several months now. And this man I'm arguing business deals with at the moment, well, he frightens me. Perhaps I'm just being paranoid, but I say a precaution taken is better than a trip to the morgue. Call me grim, but my feeling is that bad._

_ This is why I have installed my new security system. You saw the pieces for it being brought in, Gerard. Mind you, by the time you are reading this, it was probably already too late for me, so this security is pointless if I wished to protect myself. But I didn't bring it in for me; it is for Lancelot and Guenhivyre. I know I have been a terrible father to them both, and there's nothing I can do to set things right with them, but I refuse to see either of them hurt owing to my own stupidity._

_ Now, perhaps you are wondering what you have to do with all this, aside from being inquisitive enough to have been poking your nose in the right place at the wrong time. Fact of the matter is, Gerard, you are far too damnably clever for your own good, and I can see, even now, that Lancelot is coming to rely very heavily on you. This is good, Gerard. It means I can rest assured that even if Lancelot were to fire the rest of my original staff, you would still somehow find this._

_ Now let's get down to business._

_ The computer controls the security system, but you probably knew that after reading my initial line about the system. Here's the catch: I've programmed the system to respond to your voice. Order the computer to come online, and it shall. But only for you, Lancelot, and Guenhivyre. It is designed to protect my children however, so I have my doubts as to whether it could keep you safe, but I imagine it will still obey you regardless._

_ You are no doubt by now questioning this in your head, but rest assured, Gerard Montaine, that when the time comes that you have need of this technology, it will all make sense._

_ And no doubt he hates me by now, but please…when you tell Lancelot of this, try to help him understand that I do care about he and his sister._

_Sincerely,_

_Arterus Julius Pendragon_

Gerard re-read the letter several times over, swallowing hard, heart pounding. The whole thing was just too unreal.

Finally, he remembered that he was supposed to be fetching drinks, and he got to his feet, folding the letter back up and tucking it away inside his shirt as he strode from the ballroom.

He had to tell Lancelot, but with Dorian around…

A cold feeling began to grow in the pit of Gerard's stomach, and he had the feeling Arterus too, would have felt that his wonderful security system had already been bypassed by the man most dangerous to his son.

* * *

He had no idea how he'd gotten there. All concept of time and memory had fled from him, and he could barely piece together the fragments of the memories he had. He'd managed to get through until he came to a building—_an apartment_, his vague memories supplied—and found himself standing in his living quarters, a dismal little joke of a place. He shook his head, trying to clear out all the mist and muddle that had been plaguing him, and sat down to think, to try to puzzle out what he couldn't remember.

To make matters worse, _it_ had followed him. And it continued to tease him as he'd gone through his day, silently dogging his footsteps, whispering dark, horrid thoughts in his ears.

For some reason though, now everything was quiet, and he could think.

He'd been going through motions for the past week, motions his body seemed to remember, even if his mind couldn't completely keep up. And he felt it quite time to re-educate himself, to try to remember what it was he'd forgotten.

An open paperback book was lying in the middle of the floor, and he picked it up, clicking his tongue in irritation with himself. Leaving it lying about like that, open of all things, would break the book's spine. He was about to set it back on the shelf when something on the pages caught his eye, sparking a faint memory in his mind. He tried to grasp at it, but it danced just out of reach, like a name on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't get out.

Mesmerized, he sat down on a chair and began to read, drinking up the words like a thirst-addled animal. On and on did he read, until the glowing numbers on the digital clock on the wall read the early hours of the next morning.

He remembered now who he was.

And it was time he exerted his dominion over the fools he saw within the city.

Starting with Marshall Parker of Gothcorp.

* * *

It was lunchtime, and Banshee found herself sitting at a bar next to Magpie, while Trick Deck busied herself preparing them all drinks.

"So tell me again," Banshee said as she polished one of her twin Uzis, "What exactly did you tell this guy?"

"Smashed harder than a china cup, love," Magpie snickered, "And when he found me, I just said I was room service for the hotel, cleaning up, and he was supposed to be gone already."

"And this was in his house?" Trick Deck asked, the corners of her mouth threatening to twitch upward in a smile.

"In his _mum's_ house, mate!" Magpie roared with laughter, slapping her hand on the counter. "And then he toddles on back to her room, and I can hear him waking her up to say they had to leave the hotel!"

Banshee fumbled as she put down her gun, laughing hard enough she felt like her sides were going to split.

"He fell for that? Girl, that's priceless!" she shrieked, giggling.

"Too bad you didn't get that on camera, hon." Trick Deck snickered. "What kind of a haul did you get?"

But before the English thief could reply, the three girls heard someone talking, and as they looked up, Oswald Cobblepot rounded the corner of a hallway, Edward Nygma following right behind him.

"…Still nothing. I'm not sure what I'll do, Oswald." Nygma was saying, staring at a rather forlorn piece of paper in his hands.

"Rest assured, my conundrum-dazzled friend, I'll be keeping my eyes open—all of them, mind you—and if I should see anything, I'll alert you." Cobblepot said gently, giving the taller man a concerned look.

"And your fee for these services?" the Riddler asked, finally looking at him, but the Penguin was already waving his hand dismissively.

"What's a favor between friends?" he answered smoothly, and the three girls turned back to one another before they could be noticed eavesdropping. Banshee was the first to speak up, keeping her voice low.

"Still no sign since the note, huh?" she muttered.

"Doesn't mean Eddy hasn't been hauling backside." Magpie said in bitter tones. A mix of emotions clouded her face and she tossed back a long draught of the vodkashake in front of her. "You'd think that bloody note was some treasure map and he's convinced he's been reading it wrong each time he comes to another dead end."

"Everyone just needs to take this a little bit easier." Trick Deck said calmly. "I know everyone's concerned about Guen. I am too, but the fact of the matter is, if she says she's going to be back soon, then she will. It's just the kind of person she is."

"Yeah, you're right," Banshee said, a small smile lighting up her face as she stirred her garnish umbrella in a strawberry daiquiri. "Guen's gonna be back soon. Ed's just taking it a bit rough."

Magpie muttered something over her shake, but it was too low and fast for either of the other girls to catch it.

"Sorry, hon? What was that?" Trick Deck asked in a casual, yet guarded voice. The thief looked up from under her mop of pink hair and forced a smile on her face.

"Nothing. The shake is good." she said sweetly.

"We should make a toast!" Banshee said suddenly, raising her daiquiri. "To drunk idiots who wake up their mothers when they get robbed!"

Smiling weakly, Magpie raised her shake and they clinked glasses. Trick Deck too, raised hers, then sipped at it delicately, her calculating gaze never leaving Magpie.

She knew about Nygma's feelings toward Guenhivyre Pendragon, as well as Vanessa's feelings toward Eddy. The problem was, nobody knew what _Guen_ felt about Eddy. Still, May Markowitz knew the winged girl was more likely to give up the Riddler as a romantic partner if she felt that she would impose on anything that might be going on between him and their English friend. That's just the sort of person—or was it persons?—Guen was.

Regardless, May had seen dark look that had come over Magpie's face for the brief moment she murmured her unheard threat, and May didn't like it in the least.

"Vanessa, I'm leaving." the Riddler's voice cut through her musings, cold and harsh, and Magpie looked up with a jerk. For a moment, she said nothing, then nodded and indicated her friends.

"I'll be along in a bit." she said, a hopeful look on her face, as though she wanted nothing more than for Edward to object. Unfortunately for her, the dark-haired man showed no sign of caring, and he spun on his heel, leaving the Iceberg Lounge without so much as a glance backward. Magpie's smile slipped from her face and she turned back to her shake, crestfallen.

"I need to go talk to Erin." she muttered after a moment, pushing away from the bar and slipping off her seat.

"What? I thought you were going to stay with us for a while!" Banshee squawked indignantly.

"I'll come back later." came the reply, and the thief put up her hood and fled.

"What's got into her?" Banshee demanded, staring at May.

"Oh, sweetie," the older woman sighed, "You and I both know that Eddy likes Guen, right?"

"Duh."

"And nobody knows if Guen sees him as anything other than a brother, right?"

"Double duh!"

"Vanessa likes Edward. So how do you think she's handling his obsessing over Guen's note and practically pushing all of his lackeys to exhaustion to find her?"

Banshee's eyes went wide. "Oh." She turned and looked at the door Magpie had left through. "Oh, _shit_."

"That," May said wryly, "Might just be the understatement of the year."


	3. Chapter 2: The Breakout

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

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Chapter 2: The Breakout

Ink squirmed to one side of the sofa, curling herself up into a ball as best she could. New arrivals at Arkham didn't occur too terribly often; more or less, the asylum always seemed to be bringing their regulars back in _again_, but getting a new person or two in wasn't a rare occurrence.

This one, however, made her slightly uncomfortable.

"What troubles you, dear Ptah? Simply say the word, and I shall remove it from your sight!" the big man declared flamboyantly, dark brown eyes watching her as though she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

_You giving me so much attention, for starters_, she thought grimly, but she stayed quiet.

Ramsey Samuel Kingston had been brought in late last night, and had somehow wound up in the same schedule as Ink for group therapy, as well as recreation time. He'd been found in the office of Marshall Parker of Gothcorp, wearing a rather unorthodox mummy costume and claiming he was Pharaoh Ramses II, reborn. There'd been evidence that he'd strangled Mr. Parker with a length of binding cloth, and he'd immediately tried to fight off the police…with a staff, a crook, and a flail.

And given his insistence that he was a mummy brought back to life, Detective Harvey Bullock had been the one to escort him to Arkham.

When Ink had first seen Bullock walking Ramsey down the hall, she'd been excited to see the detective, and found the new inmate interesting. He'd been very calm, and offered her a friendly smile before being walked on past her to an unoccupied cell. At group therapy time, though, things had gotten a little odd. Ramsey had studied everyone carefully, as though they were relatives whose names he was trying to remember. He'd taken one look at Maxie and immediately greeted him as "Zeus," much to the Greek man's delight. Ink had thought Ramsey was just being friendly and indulgent…until he had immediately called Harley Quinn "Hathor" and Pamela Isley "Sekhmet."

"Who?" Ink had asked, slightly puzzled. The names sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite figure out why.

"They are the two forms of the same goddess!" Ramsey had explained, a fever glint in his eye. "Do you not see? The fierce form of the fighting lioness, Sekhmet—" he gestured toward Pam, who sat a little straighter and looked faintly pleased, "—and her gentler form, the cow goddess Hathor!"

"Hey! Watch your mouth, joik!" Harley had snapped, clearly less than content being mistaken for a cow goddess.

"And clearly you," Ramsey had then said, gesturing toward the ink that was ever-running from her eye, "Are Ptah, the embodiment of creativity and artistry."

This sudden attention hadn't diminished since group therapy, and it made her feel rather awkward.

"I-I'm fine…" she muttered, wishing the big man would go away. It wasn't that he was unpleasant or rude or irritating. Far from it; in fact, his voice was pleasant to listen to, with a clipped, posh British accent. If she could have hazarded a guess, Ink would have said he definitely had one British parent and an Egyptian parent, given his coloring.

"But something troubles you!" Ramsey insisted, dark eyes blinking slowly, "It is my duty as Pharaoh, alive, dead, or otherwise, to remove from the sight of the gods anything that they find displeasing."

"Have you ever considered removing yourself? That might be a start." snorted a dry voice. Ink glanced over, seeing Jonathan Crane look up from his chess game with Arnold Wesker, glaring daggers at Ramsey. Normally she would have been thrilled to see him, but a feeling of dread settled in her stomach at his sudden confrontation of the larger man. Ramsey turned slowly, fixing Jonathan with a glare nearly as dangerous.

"Excuse me?" he intoned carefully, his voice going soft.

"I said, have you considered removing yourself from Ink's presence? Did it occur to you that you are the thing bothering her? It certainly has to most everyone else here." Jonathan shot back, making Arnold jump in his seat.

Ramsey's eyes only narrowed. Ink started to make desperate gestures, hoping Jonathan would see and get the hint to stop. The British-Egyptian did _not_ seem like the sort of person to pick a fight with. However, the doctor of fear ignored her, and continued to chide the bigger man.

"After all, you're almost as annoying as Joker." he added. "Almost."

"Impossible!" Ramsey gasped, scandalized. "Nobody bests The Mummy!"

"Not to mention you're arrogant," Jonathan went on, "Heavens knows you're getting on poor Ink's nerves. You're certainly getting on mine."

"You try my patience." Ramsey growled.

"I wasn't aware idiots had patience." Jonathan yawned, turning back to the chess game. Ramsey surged forward with a roar, and it was only by the quick reflexes of several orderlies that he was stopped short before he could reach Crane's neck.

"You play a dangerous game! Do not presume to tell The Mummy Ramses that he may not commune with his gods, you thin, barb-tongued papyrus reed!"

Jonathan scooted his chair back, staring at Ramsey with a measure of shock and disgust in his expression. "Keep that man away from me! He's a lunatic!"

This statement seemed to amuse the remaining orderlies and doctors, who promptly began to snicker. Ink just sighed and shook her head. She'd already gotten mad at Ramsey earlier for another ill mention of Jonathan, but the big man hadn't seemed the least intimidated by the display of her…unusual abilities. If anything, it only served to further root his belief that she was Ptah, or whatever. She only curled up tighter on the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest. She didn't always get bored but this wasn't the sort of eventful day she'd wanted at Arkham, either.

More guards burst into the room, and she couldn't help but wonder just how well their communications systems worked here, when she realized that something was wrong. The guards were pale-faced, covered in sheens of sweat, and staring in terror at the others present.

"We've had a security breach!" one of them gasped hoarsely.

"But the patients—" one of the doctors present started.

"Not the patients!" another of the guards panted, "Someone's broken _into_ the asylum!"

* * *

She strode through the halls with ease, humming a particularly dark hard rock tune under her breath as she went, months and weeks of walking the halls before carrying her feet from place to place. Several guards, orderlies, and even a few of the doctors had already attempted to bar her passage, but the second they realized she was untouchable, all their bravado and moxie abandoned them and they fled as though they'd seen a ghost.

"Well, I am," she said aloud to herself, amused by the thought. She took a left past the low-security ward and began heading for the recreation room. She'd never visited that place in particular, not when she'd been here before for her criminal psychology class, but she still knew how to find it. One might question her logic, but more likely than not the madhouse had at least one group in the time block for recreation at the moment, and there was a good chance one of them would have the information she needed. All she had to do was get it out of them, then finish her mission. Yeah, she had to stay within parameters, but so much of the job had been left up in the air, so she could rely on her own problem-solving to try and work it out.

She rounded another corner, almost running smack into a female doctor with a long blonde, braided ponytail.

"Whoops, my bad!" Wraith chuckled, bringing her bracelets together and becoming solid again. The woman opened her mouth, possibly to shout or scream or something, but the thief was faster, her switchblade scythe already open in her hands, and she brought the butt end of it sharply against the woman's head. Eyes rolling up, the doctor's knees began to give way, but Wraith was already moving again, donning her black hood as she ran to the rec room, not waiting around to see her victim hit the floor.

* * *

Ink sidled over next to Jonathan, not out of fear or wanting direction, but just to feel safer. Ramsey stayed back, possibly out of interest in discovering what was occurring. The orderlies looked to the doctors for direction, but before anything could be completely organized and executed, the rec room door opened sharply, slamming against the wall with a resounding bang. The guards rushed forward immediately, blocking the intruder from view, but the figure moved quickly, slamming them each in the side of their heads, nimbly leaping out of the way when the guards tried to overwhelm her. Within moments they were all on the floor, and the orderlies and doctors could only stare in shock, the patients in surprise and curiosity. A young woman, right around Ink's age, was standing in the doorway, her face shrouded by a black hood. For a second Ink wondered who she was, but even if she'd changed the skirt in for black capris, the long, slim scythe twirling in her hands gave her away.

"Sorry to interrupt, but if you'll just answer my question, I'll be out of your hair, lickety-split, 'kay boys?" the girl said in a voice that sounded roughly like an angry female singer. Her demeanor switched abruptly, going from an overdone friendless to an icy cold that would have had Mr. Freeze giving a golf clap of approval. "Where's Harvey Dent?"

But the doctors said nothing. They couldn't; they had frozen on the spot, and when she spoke, they started glancing among themselves, obviously torn as to whether or not they should help the woman. Unfortunately for them, Harley Quinn answered for them, sounding only too happy to do so.

"Oh, Harvey?" she said cheerily, "Go down the hall, last door on your left!"

The girl inclined her head to the blonde. "Thanks, Harl." And with that, she turned to leave, exposing two dark blue wings folded against the back of her sleeveless hoodie. Ink took a sharp step forward, knowing it was now or never.

"Guen!" she cried out, and the girl paused, her wings opening, making Ink gasp.

The wings had grown again, almost to a six-foot span.

The girl lowered her hood, revealing piercing green eyes and a face that most of the Rogues Gallery hadn't seen in almost three months. She grinned wickedly.

"Close, but no cigar." Wraith chuckled. She folded her wings against her back again and charged from the room. Ink was preparing to lash out, to use tendrils of her ink to drag Wraith back and give her an explanation for her disappearance, but she'd barely thought about it when she saw Ramsey surge forward, chasing after her friend, shouting something.

"Ink!" Jonathan said in shock, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder, making heat flood through her arm. She looked up at him, and she could see the utter astonishment on his face. After all, Guen had been his understudy for a while, and Jonathan still seemed to consider her a student and a friend. He'd not been overly concerned when she disappeared, and had been one of the few people to reassure most of them that the winged girl would resurface when she was ready. But it seemed he was just as surprised as everyone else to see her come back so soon, and to ask for Two-Face, of all the people.

"Don't worry, Jon," she said, quickly bringing her hands together to form one of her little ink-creatures. She set it on the floor, and it raced off in the direction Wraith and Ramsey had gone. "We'll get some answers! And when we get her back here, I'm going to sit her down for a long talk! She didn't even call!"

* * *

Wraith glanced over her shoulder as she ran, realizing she was being chased, and frowned in mild annoyance. The guy was tall, tan and his dark hair fell to his waist. Either he was some kind of hippie, or had a blind fashion consultant.

"Wait, Priestess of Horus!" he shouted in a clipped British accent.

"What the heck…?" she muttered, "Keep your nose out of my business!"

"Don't speak to me so informally!" he snapped, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"I don't have time to speak to you at all, you basket-case!" she snapped back, returning her attention back to the direction she was running in. She didn't get too far however, before her hood was yanked back and she was nearly pulled, choking, off her feet. The tan Brit glared at her, his dark eyes fierce.

_Geez! For a guy that big, he moves like track runner!_ Wraith thought.

"What do you want?" she growled.

"Obviously you're organizing an escape, Priestess of Horus. And even if I'm only a resurrected shell of my former might and glory, I am still Ramses II! You must take me with you!" he rumbled, puffing out his chest and standing upright. Orderlies appeared at either end of the hallway, and the thief ground her teeth, agitated.

"I don't have time, you dingbat!" she hissed.

"Neither of us do!" he shot back.

Wraith stared at him, her eyes darting briefly back to the orderlies, who were approaching with caution, syringes in hand. She couldn't afford to mess this up, and she was already running out of time.

But as she sized the man up, a thought formulated in her mind.

"Okay then," she said slowly, "If you can find whatever effects you need and get out the door, to the parking lot, and out the gate in five minutes, you can come."

"Excellent!" he said, putting her back down and taking off in the opposite direction. She half-wondered what he was going to do about the orderlies, when he lowered his torso, leading with his shoulder, and barreled right though them like a football player.

"Well that works." she said with a shrug, turning her attention back to the orderlies that were almost on top of her. "Sorry, boys." She feinted a kick, which the closer of the two fell for, and as he moved to avoid it, she jabbed his stomach with the end of the scythe, knocking the wind out of him. Leaping into the air, she snapped her wings open, slowing her fall just enough for her to kick out and land on the chest of the other man. He went down hard, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat, and he whimpered in pain as she felt something beneath her combat boots shift, making a sickening crunch.

"Oops. Sounds like a rib or two." she said sweetly, though inwardly she could feel Guen at the back of her mind, wincing in sympathy. She leaned down and bashed her fist on the top of his head, knocking him out before turning back to his partner, who was staring, white-faced with shock. "You might want to worry about helping him. Oh no, wait. I forgot: you can't." And she swung her scythe again, catching him on the side of his head and slamming him into the wall. He bounced off with a loud crack, and slid to the floor, unconscious.

"After all, you're sleeping on the job." she chuckled coldly, ignoring the protests her other personality was making. Instead, she raced on, lunging for the door.

The ink-creature wasn't far behind, and it carefully skirted the fallen men, hiding behind one of them for cover as it watched Wraith approach a door, and say something to the person inside. The winged girl drew something from the pocket of her capris, stuck it in the lock on the door, and pulled a lighter from one of her combat boots to ignite it. Once the fuse sparked, she snapped the lighter closed, then ducked against the opposite wall and covered her ears. There was a small explosion, and the door fell inward, smoke rising from the lock as the inmate stepped out.

"Effective," he remarked as his mismatched eyes studied the smoking lock and the downed orderlies. "Messy, but effective."

"C'mon, Papa Bear!" Wraith hissed, jumping to her feet, seizing one of his elbows as best as his straitjacket would allow. "We've gotta beat it!"

"My coin." he said gruffly, sighing with relief when she drew it out of her pocket.

"We don't have a lot of time before the guards find the boys parked outside and call the police!" she hissed, and when he nodded, they charged for the emergency exit, ignoring the alarm that went off as it opened. The ink-creature moved then, racing after them as fast as its tiny body could allow, and when it came close enough, it sprouted tiny limbs, jumped, and landed, clinging for dear life to the heel of one of Wraith's boots.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all," Two-Face said as they ran over the grounds. She'd transferred the scythe to one hand, using the other to grip his arm as they went, helping to balance him. Most of the guards were behind them, chasing them, but no one was paying attention to the main entrance. It was a clear shot, until someone shouted, "CLOSE THE GATE!"

"Crap," Wraith muttered.

"Keep going!" Two-Face said gruffly. They put on a burst of speed as they came close to the doors, which were starting to slide closed on their track. Five feet away, Wraith snarled in frustration, collapsed her scythe and flung the scarred man forward, making him stumble awkwardly through the rapidly shrinking opening. Once he was out of her hand, she bashed her manacle and wristband together, immediately receiving the weightless, floating feeling of insubstantiality. She heard more shouts behind her, and just as the gates closed, she pushed herself through them, the metal cold on her essence. She pulled through and kept running, waiting until the cold passed to bring the bands back together. Two-Face had kept running for the car parked down the road from the asylum, hidden in the shade, but he glanced over his shoulder to check if she was still behind him. He nodded as she became solid again, giving a grunt of approval, and they continued to stumble down the hill. The Two-Ton gang must have recognized them, as the lights on the car immediately blinked twice and the engine roared to life. One of them rolled down the window as they swung around to expose the doors, yelling, "Hurry, boss, missy!"

Wraith bared her teeth in a quiet growl. She was going to have to remember him for that 'missy' remark.

The door was thrown open just in time for them to tuck and roll inside, and it was only when Wraith landed on her seat that she remembered the strange British man.

"Oh, well. Snooze, you loose." she muttered.

"What was that?" Two-Face asked, turning his yellow eye on her.

"Some inmate wanted me to bring him with us. Called me a—"

"PRIESTESS OF HORUS!" a voice roared, making them all jumped as they looked back at the gate. The Brit in question was there, a box of what could only be his effects tucked under his arm. The guards were right behind him, but he once again moved with unusual speed, throwing the box high into the air, sending it sailing over the gates. Seizing the gate in both hands, he gritted his teeth and pulled, wrenching them apart just enough for him to wedge himself through, and he tripped as the gate shut behind him, just managing to grab his box again as he went rolling down the hill. Wraith could hear him make small noises of pain as he went, but he swung halfway down, bringing his feet in front of him, and using his momentum to launch himself upright, pushing off on his elbow, and he was running toward them again.

"What the—" one of the lackeys murmured.

"Guessing that's him?" Two-Face asked, his voice rumbling with dry amusement and apathy at the same time.

"Yyyyep." Wraith answered.

"CATCH!" the man yelled, and she barely had time to put her hands up before his box came flying at her head. Her fingers just closed around it, and she lowered the box just time to see the man's feet leave the ground as he soared toward them, practically pouncing on the car's floorboards. She was only relieved she and Dent managed to pull up their feet in time; she didn't want to know what he'd do to the poor sap if the Brit had broken a couple of toes.

"Pull your feet in!" she growled, doing it for him and yanking the door shut.

"Step on it, boys!" Two-Face snapped, and the driver slammed his foot against the gas, the enormous black-and-white car roaring down the hill and away from Arkham Asylum.

* * *

Edward Nygma was in the middle of attempting to mediate a fight between two of his best, Magpie and Rook, when one of his less intellectually-inclined runners burst into the room. He looked at the man in annoyance, and the two bickering kids fell silent.

"If this is about Aidan O'Ryvin, tell him he's got the job." Eddie said in a dangerous voice.

"N-not that, sir!" the man gasped, "You have to come see this!"

Scowling, the Riddler stepped between Magpie and Rook, who followed a second later as the runner urged them to come out to the main room. Many of the other runners, as well as the newcomer Aidan, who called himself The Raven, were standing around, watching a news bulletin. Summer Gleeson was talking animatedly to a doctor at Arkham, who was spreading his hands helplessly.

"—have no clue what this was all about, but she just charged in here and started attacking us. Wanted to know about Harvey Dent."

"And do you think this girl may have some connection to the notorious Two-Face, Dr. Avery?" Summer asked.

"I-I-I don't know!" he stammered back. "To my recollection, out of all the criminals she used to interview here, Dent wasn't one of them! I don't why she's even doing this; Guenhivyre Pendragon was such a sweet young lady!"

"But clearly," came a new voice, this one with a slight German accent, and the camera panned around to take in a balding, rotund man approaching the newswoman, "Miss Pendragon has shown herself to be…unstable. And with her helping not only Harvey Dent but also the newest arrival, Ramsey Kingston, to escape this morning, I presume it safe to say that we may need to consider admitting Miss Pendragon through our doors again, as a…patient."

"And who are you, Mr…?" Summer asked.

"Strange, Miss Gleeson. Dr. Hugo Strange." the man said with a smile made sinister by the glasses that hid his eyes from view. "And I have just been informed, owing to his previous inaptitude to keep the asylum under control, that I am to be replacing Dr. Fenton Avery here as the Chief of Psychiatry."

Dr. Avery paled. "Y-you can't be serious!"

"Oh, but I am quite serious. I've been told to relay to you, Dr. Avery, that the appropriate forms are already on your desk, and that you must report to Dr. Bartholomew at once." Strange replied smoothly. A sheen of sweat covered Avery's face, and for a half a second, he looked ready to object, but finally he turned and left, disappearing from the view of the camera.

"Oh…oh, geez!" Summer muttered, looking back and forth between the two of them. Strange offered her a semi-pleasant smile.

"Do you still have further questions regarding this morning's incident, Miss Gleeson?" he asked politely, but a runner turned the television off before they could learn whether the reporter did or didn't. All eyes in the room turned to the Riddler, and his eyes were still locked on the now-blank screen.

"She's back." he exhaled in a hoarse whisper, his voice thick with emotion. "Guen's back."

For a long time, nobody said anything, until Magpie decided to break the spell.

"Eddie," she said in a wavering voice, reaching out to touch his arm, "I don't think—"

"Be quiet." he said coldly, and her eyes went wide. "I've had enough of your bickering Cook, Greene!"

Both flinched back as though struck, tears welling up in Magpie's eyes.

"O'Ryvin!" the Riddler snapped, and the young Irishman stood straight at attention, his face a little pale and worried.

"Yes, sir?" he asked. The Riddler turned to regard him slowly, blue eyes flashing.

"You want to earn your place here, O'Ryvin? You're going to catch me a ghost."


	4. Chapter 3: Twitch's Encounters

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 3: Twitch's Encounters

Ulysses Cutter, better known as "Twitch" in the Gotham underworld, was the sort of man you could depend upon. Not because he had numerous useful skills nor because he excelled at everything did, but rather because he was the sort of person who would do his best to carry out and accomplish a task given to him. There were times he didn't succeed, but they were few and far between, and usually the result of something being too far outside the range of his abilities.

The day was dark, gray, and damp, but it made little difference to Twitch, who considered himself to be on a very important errand. Though he tended to be a gofer in the services of many of the Rogues Gallery, it was well-known that he was primarily the Scarecrow's right-hand man, and he was loyal to a fault. So loyal, in fact, that he was grocery shopping to stock up the kitchen at the Scarecrow's hideout, even though Jonathan Crane had been taken back to Arkham less than three weeks ago. Twitch considered it his duty to maintain the upkeep of Crane's hideouts, and it was a job that had become routine to him, something he embraced with a fervent enthusiasm. After all, sooner or later Doctor Crane was bound to break out, and Twitch wanted to ensure his savior came home to facilities that were shipshape.

He was heading to Duke and Marsha's, a little mom-n-pops grocery store he'd once gone to with Ink, when the sensation of fingers crawling raced up his spine. Jumping, he darted a quick look over his shoulder to find…nothing. The ordinary Gothamites continued to pass by, about their own business, and none seemed to notice his paranoid reaction. Perhaps such a thing was so expected they'd become jaded to it.

"L-losing my m-mind…" Twitch muttered to himself, shaking his head and resuming his walk. His arms shook slightly, chills in his back and shoulders as he made his way into the store, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched or, worse yet, followed.

"You've just g-got the w-willies, Twitch…" he said under his breath, rubbing his arms as he selected a couple of juices. "Y-yeah, that's it. You've w-w-watched too many h-horror m-movies." Feeling that talking would draw more unwanted attention upon himself, he immediately ceased and resorted to mentally trying to reassure himself he was just being paranoid. This went on for several minutes, and so consumed him that he lost track of where he was going and ran right into another customer. The juices in Twitch's arms crashed to the floor, (though thankfully they didn't break,) and several cans of soup clattered and clanged down around them.

"Oh-oh! Oh m-my g-g-goodness! I-I-I I'm so s-sorry! I wa-wasn't watching where I was g-going!" he apologized hastily, bending down to scoop his groceries up, and was surprised when a young man, probably in his early to mid-twenties, crouched down and offered him a knowing smile as he retrieved the soups.

"It's alright," said the other kindly, "That was just as much my fault. We should probably both get carts, huh?"

He had a lean look to him, accentuated if anything, by the pair of oval glasses perched on the end of his nose and the small, stringy brown ponytail that draped halfway on one of his shoulders. Dark eyes flashed behind the glasses, and Twitch got the feeling that, despite his kind manner, there was something dangerous about the younger man.

"Y-y-yes…" he agreed, feeling a bit wary. "P-probably a good idea. I'm not s-sure what I was thinking." Then, feeling he needed to diffuse the situation before it got into risky territory, he thrust one of his hands forward. "Name's Ulysses Cutter, b-but everyone calls me Twitch."

The younger man hesitated only a moment before giving him a shake.

"Gary Myers." he answered. "Why does everyone call you Twitch?"

"T-t-t-Tourette's Syndrome." he explained, feeling his cheeks go slightly red.

"Ahh!" said Gary, and his expression somehow softened a great deal at that. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cutter."

"S-same to you." Twitch agreed, giving him a nod before walking off to the cart corral to avoid having the same incident occur twice.

_That,_ he said to himself, _was a little strange. I wonder if Miss Ink knows him. They seem around the same age…_

He let these thoughts entertain him for a while as he walked around and shopped, occasionally spotting Gary at the opposite end of an aisle. Once or twice the younger man noticed him and offered him another pleasant smile, but Twitch still couldn't shake the feeling that he had to be on his guard, even if it was a silly, paranoid thought. He tried to distract himself with wondering if he knew any of the other customers, and he did happen to pass a young man in leather and an older blonde woman who seemed familiar, but otherwise he didn't really recognize anyone. The rest of his shopping was completed with little incident, and before long he was heading out of the store, arms laden with several shopping bags. He didn't cherish the thought of carting them around on the bus and up to the lab, but he was filled with a self-accomplished pride nonetheless.

The next major bump in his day occurred as he was waiting at the bus stop.

He'd sat on the bench, grateful for the opportunity to set the bags down, and waited, twiddling his thumbs clumsily and humming a tune from Mary Poppins. Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and a voice that could have belonged to an angry female singer reached his ears.

"Twitch? Is that you? Long time no see!"

Jumping, he whirled about, and saw a young woman who looked like a walking Hot Topic ad approaching him with a grin on her face. He started to respond, then realized which of her personalities was in place.

"M-Miss Wraith?" he asked tentatively, his mind reeling in shock. She'd disappeared for nearly the last three months, and nobody had known where she'd gotten off to. Twitch had known she was severing her apprenticeship with Crane, and therefore wouldn't have been at the lab all the time, but her vanishing was a different matter entirely. He felt both relief and a stab of apprehension at the sight of her; why was she suddenly here again? What did she want? And why, above all, was she just striding about in the open as Wraith with no abandon?

"The one and only!" Wraith answered with a cheeky grin. "You get brownie points by the way. Most people still can't tell the difference between me and Guen."

"You s-sound different w-when y-y-you talk…" Twitch mumbled.

"What's with all the groceries, huh? Crane making you run errands from his padded cell?" Wraith quirked an eyebrow at all the bags.

"H-he's not m-making me. I wanted to do it." Twitch protested gently.

"…How is everyone, Twitch?" Wraith asked quietly, her eyes slipping away from him to look at nothing in particular. He glanced up at her, tempted to respond at the measure of longing in her face, but he shook his head.

"I-I think you should ask them all. B-but I've m-m-missed you. M-Miss Ink has especially missed you." he answered.

"Ink…" Wraith repeated the name, and Twitch realized the hilt of her switchblade scythe was in her hand. He was half-afraid she intended to use it on him, but she only stroked the wood, her expression sad.

"She's not very happy with you, y-you know." Twitch added.

"I doubt anyone is, Twitch. I just sort of up and left without saying anything. Guen and I…we weren't happy about it, but if we'd tried to get a message out, it would only have caused trouble. That's why I had Guen write that note eventually and send it to everyone." she explained.

"Wh-where have y-you been all this t-time?" he asked, suspicious.

"Well," Wraith started awkwardly, "You see—"  
"Priestess of Horus!" a booming voice with a British accent suddenly called. Twitch looked about in alarm as he heard the girl groan. A very tall man who resembled Dwaine "The Rock" Johnson dressed in a very odd outfit—probably British couture—with a blue marble design interspersed with gold was running toward them, a ridiculously long ponytail flapping in the wind behind him. Twitch could only stare in shock, no matter how greatly his first instinct to bolt and run was.

"You cannot simply abandon your pharaoh in his time of need!" the man scolded as he drew close.

"Ph-Pharaoh?" Twitch asked, stunned, turning to look questioningly at Wraith, who gave him a long-suffering look.

"Twitch, meet Ramsey. Ramsey, this is Twitch." she said in a flat tone, and for the first time, the huge man took notice of him. But within moments his expression darkened like storm clouds, and Twitch flinched back in alarm before he could stop himself.

"Whoa, Ramram! Chillax! Twitch ain't gonna bite!" Wraith said in shock, vainly attempting to push the big man out of her friend's face.

"He may not bite," Ramsey answered in a deadly calm voice, "But he will call down the plagues and the wrath of his God upon us, without a doubt."

"I w-what?" Twitch spluttered, dumbfounded.

"Do not attempt to play the fool with me, Musa. Even in this life you are a stutterer! Even in this day and age, you dress yourself in the rags of the desert, letting your appearance grow wild and savage! Where is your mighty staff now? Where is your silver-tongued brother?" Ramsey was on the verge of bellowing, and Twitch tried to shrink back and make himself as small as possible, terrified of the bigger man's temper and the insane light in his dark eyes.

"Musa?" Wraith repeated, puzzled.

"His own people called him Moshe. In this day and age, as I have read from your sacred texts, you all know him as Moses." Ramsey replied quietly, sparing Wraith a glance.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! Slow down there, big guy!" Wraith said, letting out an exasperated chuckle, "You think _Twitch_ is _Moses_?"

But Ramsey ignored her, continuing to glare at Twitch as though his very appearance, unkempt and pitiable as it was, had done the bigger man some great personal wrong.

"Oh, man, this is too rich!" Wraith shook her head and gave Ramsey's sleeve a sharp tug. "Come on, ya lummox! I've got a job to pull! We're on a time frame!"

Finally Ramsey pulled back, but his glare was unrelenting.

"The moment you say to me, 'Let my people go,' I am going to twist your head from your shoulders with my own two hands." he hissed.

"B-b-but I d-don't even kn-know you!" Twitch cried.

"Come on, Rams. Leave him alone!" Wraith sighed, shaking her head as they turned and started to leave.

"W-wait!" Twitch cried, a thought striking him at the last moment, "M-Miss Ink is still v-very upset! She feels like you a-abandoned her!"

Wraith paused in mid-stride, then looked back at him.

"I'm not surprised. But I didn't abandon her. I never want to, and I never plan on it," she said softly, still playing with the handle of her scythe, "She's one of my best friends; I'd do anything for Ink. I'd die for her."

"Th-then," Twitch asked timidly, feeling her answer a bit extreme, even for her, "Will you p-pl-please at least c-call her? Try to a-a-a-apologize?"

Wraith nodded with a genuine smile. "Of course," she answered, resuming her walk, waving lazily, "See you around, Twitch."

And with that, she left, Ramsey on her heels. Twitch watched them go, wondering what in the world they were up to, when he noticed a shadow detach itself from the line of trees they were walking under and start to follow them. A shadow that looked like something out of his worst drug-induced nightmares. He forced his face forward, trying to put it out of his mind. Thankfully, he was saved a few minutes later when the bus arrived, coming to a halt and letting a few passengers off. Gathering up his groceries, Twitch shuffled onto the bus, his mind full of all the odd things that had happened. Plopping down into one of the seats, he leaned back and let out a weary sigh, rubbing his temples.

"It is a rough, gloomy day, _da_?"

He looked across the aisle to see a beautiful young brunette woman offering him a sympathetic smile. Her accent was Russian, if he wasn't mistaken, and she looked like she was college-age. He offered her a drained smile in response, nodding slowly.

"A very rough, gloomy, day." he agreed as the bus began to move to its next destination.


	5. Chapter 4: The Return Of Wraith

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 4: The Return Of Wraith

Ramsey wasn't entirely sure how in the world he'd been roped into this. The priestess of Horus was planning on 'pulling a job' at some 'Gotham Skating Charity for the Children's Recreation Center.' He didn't really quite understand what she meant by that, but he did know that for someone who had so urgently insisted that it needed to be done soon, she was spending an ungodly amount of time locked in the water closet.

"Are you ready _yet_, priestess?" he sighed.

"Ram, I told you these things take time!" she snapped.

"It would feel like less time were you to enlighten your Pharaoh as to what exactly you're doing in there." he muttered.

"I'm dying my hair." she repeated for the third time. Ramsey only shook his head. He still had no idea what that meant.

"She has a couple of points there."

He turned and looked at the man approaching him. Half of his face was covered in scarred flesh that had taken on the blue-gray hue of a corpse that had been inefficiently mummified. His attire, like his hair, was split down the middle black-and-white. Mismatched eyes surveyed Ramsey from that scarred face, one a soft brown, the other a virulent, angry amber. The unscarred hand was at ease in a pocket, while the other constantly flipped a coin into the air and caught it unconsciously, as though half of the man was forever restless and needed something to preoccupy that pent-up energy.

_All things taken into consideration_, Ramsey thought, _perhaps that is true._

"And what might these points be?" he asked aloud.

"First, dying hair does take time." Two-Face answered in his gravelly voice, a small smile turning up the good corner of his mouth, "And second, she has to dye it. Can't make an impressive rebirth if she doesn't look her best, can she?"

"Hmph. I suppose you have a point there," Ramsey murmured, then hastily added, "Two points, I mean."

Two-Face grunted, giving him a small nod, and Ramsey let out a quiet sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. The man didn't necessarily frighten him—to think, a Pharaoh intimidated by a mere mortal priest of Khepri!—but he was quickly learning that the priestess's "Papa Bear" had an unpredictable temper, and it was usually best to ward off any violent outbursts by ensuring everything, whether physical, verbal or otherwise, was doubled in some form or fashion.

All in all, he'd somehow wound up in one of the most odd alliances ever.

A few moments passed in which all was quiet, save for the constant sound of the coin being flipped and caught, and finally a triumphant cheer erupted from the water closet. Ramsey jumped, but Two-Face merely caught his coin and looked calmly at the door.

"Ladies and gentlerogues," the priestess's voice floated from behind the door, sounding pleased and a little smug, "May I introduce you. To your new. Improved…"

The door swung open as she stepped out, half of her hair now a brilliant silver.

"Wraith." she grinned brilliantly, twirling her scythe, the silver-and-black blade making a dizzying arc in the air, like a glow with its own shadow.

"So that was what you meant when you said you were dying your hair." Ramsey remarked. "You were changing its color! Remarkable! I haven't seen many priestesses capable of that level of sorcery!"

For some reason, she shot him a rather withering look before turning to Two-Face. "Well, Papa Bear," she asked excitedly, "What do you think? Am I totally rockin' the black-and-silver look? Two thumbs up?"

"Much better." he nodded, "Two thumbs up."

Her grin grew wider and the dark blue wings on her back fluttered in excitement.

"Perfect! I hope everyone at that stupid party is wearing their skates when I get there. They're gonna need them." she said in an ominous voice, and for a brief moment, Ramsey could have sworn he felt gooseflesh raise on his arms.

Then again, his imagination was probably just being overactive.

* * *

Getting out of Arkham was becoming increasingly difficult for Jonathan Crane. The Joker never seemed to have a problem with it, as his escapes were always spontaneous and never followed a pattern, but for someone as precise as The Scarecrow, trying to plan things out that worked were starting to turn into a regular challenge.

It did, however, prove to be a useful distraction during recreation time when Harleen and Pamela got to bickering over which television channel to watch.

"I was watching Tom and Jerry, Red! Give it back!" Harley griped, making a lunge for the remote.

"Those episodes play for three hours a day, Harley!" Poison Ivy snapped back, just managing to keep the remote out of reach. "And World's Greenest Homes ONLY plays on this channel at this time on Thursdays! So it's MY turn!"

"Calm down, ladies, or I'll have to come over there and separate you two!" grumbled one of the orderlies, rubbing his temples wearily.

"Please!" Jonathan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do!"

Harley and Pamela shot them both glares, but quieted down for a moment, seeming to have a quick, silent debate between their eyes. Finally Poison Ivy spoke up again.

"I think Ink should be allowed to pick what we watch." she said pleasantly.

"Me?" Ink looked up from the sketch she was making at Jonathan's side, surprised. Jonathan hesitated, feeling a little wary about the redheaded woman's offer. Still though, Ink had been more than a little irritated after losing contact with the ink-creature she'd sent to follow Wraith and perhaps being allowed to choose a television channel would help perk her up again.

"Yeah, you're being a good girl, sweetie." Harley said kindly. She gently took the remote from Pamela and held it out. "You deserve a shot."

"Aww, thank you!" Ink said, her face brightening like the sun, and she jumped up from the chair, scrambling over and taking a seat on the couch as Harley gave her the remote. Jonathan felt a slight stab at annoyance that she'd left, but suppressed it, choosing to focus instead on his planning.

* * *

Erin was just setting her tea down on the coffee table—_really now, it should be called a tea-and-coffee table, what in the world was that Carpenter thinking?_—when she flipped the channel to the news. Still Summer Gleeson, giving a report on something-or-other. Erin wasn't sure why she kept switching to the news, hoping for something she couldn't even identify, but it was happening out of impulse and her heart seemed to sink a bit every time, as though some buoy of hope in her chest was slowly deflating. Almost unconsciously, she found the note back in her hand and she looked down at it, fighting back the tears.

_Patience. Soon._

She took a deep shuddering breath.

_Patience. Soon._

"What do you mean by that, Guen…?" she whispered. "Why haven't you come back yet? Why didn't you even tell us you were going in the first place…?"

"Erin, dearest," came a gentle voice she knew and loved so well, "Whatever is the matter?"

She looked up to see Jervis observing her, concern on his face, his hands unconsciously wringing the brim of his top hat in worry. Her heart began to sink; Jervis had taken such pains to care for her during her depression, and she'd barely responded to him until his proposal. She knew the whole ordeal upset him, but she couldn't bring herself to NOT worry over Guen. After all, the winged girl was her friend…

"Miss Pendragon again?" Jervis sighed in exasperation, hanging his head.

"I'm so sorry, Jervis…" Erin murmured, not meeting his eyes, choosing instead to watch her shaking hands, "It's just that…I'm worried about her, you know. And I mean…I'm glad she sent us all this note…but I wish I knew more. I wish I knew why she'd left…and why she's just now sent us word. And I don't even know what the message means."

The couch sunk a little as Jervis sat next to her, folding her in a gentle embrace.

"Everything will right, my queen. Worry and tarry not on the topic of Miss Pendragon for a while." he said sweetly, planting a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

Aidan O'Ryvin was staked out at the Gotham Skate Park, anxiously awaiting his moment to strike and steal the slowly amassing donation pool from under the noses of the security guards. It was tempting to go ahead and just throw himself into the fray, but the giant ornamental cauldron was only halfway full, and it would be pointless to only get away with a one-cheek job. A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him he didn't need to bother with this, that The Riddler had already accepted him as an 'employee', that he'd already been given a job.

Aidan shut the voice up by insisting it would never hurt to do a little kissing-up with a huge haul of cash. Not to mention it would definitely get Miss Magpie's attention.

He watched and waited from his perch in the tree as the time dragged slowly on, each second seeming an eternity. More people slowly came and added to the cauldron of cash as they strapped on their various skates, roller-blades, heelies and wheelies, or took a few practice runs on their skateboards. The age range was from kids who were probably in kindergarten to younger grandparents still able to skate without injuring themselves too badly. A few more figures showed up from Gotham's wealthy, and soon he could see Mayor Hamilton Hill talking with a few of his subordinates, about ready to get to his podium and make his speech.

"Hurry up, already…" he grumbled, shifting his position.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." a deep, eerie voice whispered in his ear. Aidan froze, caught between his instinct to turn and attack or to run. Either way, any sudden moves would draw attention to his hiding spot and he would be discovered.

"Aye, I know…" he murmured back. A sinister chuckle sounded in his ear, then the entire top of the tree shifted ever so slightly. Aidan turned and watched as a dark shape flitted away over the tops of the other trees, coming to rest some distance away from him, a shape that barely looked human. For half a second, he was torn between paying attention to the development below as the mayor began to give his speech, and chasing the strange figure down. After all, he'd been charged with finding Wraith, and this mysterious, albeit creepy, figure might know something about her.

In the end however, greed won out, and he watched as the mayor droned on about the charity, the donators, the sponsors, the whole nine yards.

"God, of all the boring jobs I could've picked…" he muttered.

It was then that firecrackers went off overhead, and everyone began to scream as a figure dropped down from the height of the charity's banner—"Skate To Improve The Recreation Center For Gotham's Young!"—and landed on the podium.

"Lenore and Annabelle Lee!" Aidan gasped, his jaw dropping.

Two midnight blue wings rose out of her back, slowly folding as she straightened and stood. A black halter top hoodie and mini-skort were separated by a silver sash, and her boots and collar were black with silver trim. Her wristbands were black and silver too, one color on each wrist, and even her hair was half silver, like a metallic Cruella de Vil. She stood to her full height and addressed the crowd with a crooked, deranged grin.

"HELLO, GOTHAM CITY!" she roared, and within moments a scythe appeared in her hands, which she twirled like a drill team baton. "It's your favorite local ghost, come back from the dead! Did you miss me?"

He saw some of the security guards started to recover, eyes wide, torn between protecting the mayor and trying to signal the police. From behind the platform came another figure, striding regally up to meet the girl, who hopped down from the podium, still smiling.

"I gotta say, I wasn't expecting a 'Welcome Home, Wraith!' party, but I'm touched! And I'll happily accept your generous contributions to my working-toward-becoming-freelance fund! After all, I'm not an ingrate, am I, Ram?" she said cheerfully, turning to address the man, and Aidan did a double take.

The guy was tall, really tall, with tan skin and long black hair pulled back in a ponytail that fell to his waist. He was bandaged neck to foot in gauze and wore an odd black kilt that was slit up the sides. Sandals adorned his feet, a white _nemes_ headdress covered his head, black _kohl_ lined his eyes, and an ankh-shaped leather holster acted as belt and ornament, carrying an odd assortment of items.

But it was the man's jewelry that really caught Aidan's attention.

A strange, beautiful gold necklace fell over his shoulders like a mantle, and two huge golden gauntlets with large garnet stones covered his forearms.

"Oh, sweet Sister Mary…" Aidan breathed, "Iffen I could get ahold o' those for Miss Magpie…" The Raven was, after all, a thief, and nothing struck his fancy better than some nice jewels.

But the man in gauze moved, breaking the spell, covering the donation cauldron with a large tarp.

"Indeed, Priestess." he murmured in an undeniable British accent.

"FREEZE!" someone yelled, and Aidan saw cops swarming the stand, pulling out their pistols and aiming at the girl. It was then that her words registered with him and he realized who she was.

This was Wraith! This was the girl Riddler wanted him to catch!

"And she's stealing MY steal!" he squawked indignantly, preparing to swoop down and put a stop to it. But before he finished speaking, the cops began to fire. The man in gauze, however, flicked his wrists here and there, deflecting all bullets shot at him with an uncanny ease. Those bullets aimed at Wraith, on the other hand, seemed to pass right through her.

"What the hell?"

"I told you not to shoot, you idiots!"

"Oh, Jesus!"

"Not quite." The Raven heard Wraith chuckle, and she brought her wristbands together with a sudden ringing crash. Suddenly she seemed a little more solid than she had a couple of seconds before, and without warning, she leapt from the stand, scythe flashing through the air.

"We must go, Priestess!" the big man shouted. And to The Raven's complete astonishment, he picked up the cauldron with both hands, as though it weighed little more than a large, cardboard box.

"CATCH THE MUMMY!" a policeman roared, and the man's gaze snapped onto him so fast Aidan was surprised he didn't hear his neck crack.

"How DARE you make orders to capture me so informally!" he bellowed, "I am Pharaoh Ramses the Great! I united the world! I turned Egypt into the power it still is today! I rebuilt the glory and splendor of my mighty nation! I, RAMSES! How dare you defy me, you insolent peasant!"

Wraith, who seconds ago seemed perfectly, insanely cheerful and ready to kill someone, frowned and stomped back up to the stand, seized The Mummy by an ear and yanked hard on it.

"Rams! Focus, dude! You're making me look bad! Come on, let's move!"

And with that, she began to run through the sea of people, scythe flashing in one hand as she dragged The Mummy along with her other. What astonished Aidan more than anything was how in the world the big man was keeping a hold on the cauldron, not spilling anything, and yet still allowing himself to be led like a bull grabbed by the nose ring.

"Insolent peasant! Wallower of filth! Putrescent rodent!" The Mummy was roaring. "I'll have you whipped! You will be beaten until you learn the proper reverence for my person!"

"SHUT UP!" Wraith shouted at him, and within moments The Raven realized where they were heading, as an oversized black van sped over the pavement of the nearby street, the back being thrown open by a couple of lackeys in the back.

"Come on, get in get in get in!" one of them shouted, and within moments, the doors shut again, this time with Wraith, The Mummy, and the entire donation pool from the Skating Charity behind them.

"What the hell am I doing?" Aidan yelped, taking off after the black van. That was _his_ steal, and to make things more embarrassing, his _target_ getting away with it!

* * *

In the recreation room at Arkham Asylum, everything had gone quiet as all eyes were glued to the television screen. Some reporter covering the Skating Charity had been bold enough to grab a camera to start filming, and the inmates watched as Wraith, now sporting a new hairdo, made off with a giant ornamental cauldron full of money, with Ramsey Kingston in tow, no less.

"Guennie's on the news…" Ink stated bluntly. Nobody could quite tell what she was thinking, whether she was happy, still angry, or just plain dumbfounded. The silence stretched on for a while, until finally Jonathan Crane spoke up.

"Well, at least she's finally learned how to make a proper entrance." he grumbled. "I suppose she has _that_ in her favor."

* * *

Across the city, holed up in the Scarecrow's laboratory, Twitch too, was watching the news, and he merely smacked his hand over his face, wincing.

"Oh, Miss Pendragon!" he groaned.

How utterly embarrassing! Dr. Crane was surely having a conniption…

* * *

But it was nothing compared to what was occurring at the Riddler's hideout.

Magpie clenched the remote in her hand, and it was only when an ominous cracking sound came from the plastic that Rook looked up from cleaning the chamber in one of his guns.

"What the hell's your problem?" he scoffed, then briefly looked up to the television. "Ooh, Wraith's looking nice and healthy, huh?"

Magpie muttered something under her breath before practically exploding from her chair and storming out of the room, her expression thunderous. Rook watched her progress for a moment, puzzled, until the pieces began to fall into place inside his head, and a dread worry for Guen started to form in his stomach.

* * *

Banshee had found herself yet again at the Iceberg Lounge, and it was the flash of silver and black on the television above the bar that began her descent back into sobriety.

"What the hell?" she muttered, blinking until her vision cleared a bit. "May, turn that up!"

Trick Deck turned to shift the volume dial on the TV, then froze as she looked at the screen, the glass she'd been cleaning slipping a little in her grip.

"She's back." she murmured, eyebrows meeting her hairline.

* * *

Strolling down a sidewalk near The Narrows, Stitches stopped in mid-skip, turned, and looked in the window of an electronics store. A familiar face flashed across the TV screen, and she tilted her head to the side, blinking.

"Guen-Guen got her hair done?" she asked aloud, a little puzzled. Of all the cranked out colors you could go for, why silver? And what was up with the guy in the toilet paper who was following her around?

Stitches became vaguely aware that someone else was watching the TVs with her, and she turned a little to glance at the rest of Wraith's audience.

It was a woman, slightly older than herself, dressed in a suit with coattails and white gloves, wearing rabbit ears and whiskers.

"Oh my. Late as usual." the woman muttered. "The Hatter will want to know about this, that's for sure!"

And with that, the woman took off, muttering, "Clean cup, move down! Clean cup, move down!"

Stitches shook her head before returning to the news. At least now she knew she wasn't the only totally batshit crazy freak in Gotham.

* * *

Erin broke away from the kiss, and pointed at the television screen.

"Jervis!" she cried, tears of joy shining in her eyes. "Oh Jervis, look!"

He looked up, staring at the television screen, and was met with a too-familiar face framed now by black-and-silver hair.

"Pendragon." he muttered.

"Guen's back." Erin spoke in a voice just below a whisper, tears starting to roll down the sides of her cheeks. "Jervis, she's back. She's back!"

"So it would seem." he agreed through clenched teeth. A tiny part of him was thrilled at the prospect, as it meant everything could go back to normal and Erin would be alright again. But that tiny part was drowned out by the flood of icy hatred that threatened to overtake Jervis Tetch, and he barely felt it. He barely even registered his own arms returning Erin's hug, didn't respond as she wept happily against him.

_And just now your return was so ill timed, Miss Pendragon,_ he said to himself, _That you completely ruined the mood._

That was going on the list of her crimes he would see her atone for.


	6. Chapter 5: The Rule Of Two's

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 5: The Rule of Two's

The change happened before their arrival back at the duplex. One moment Guen was riding along, merely a passenger in her own body, observing Wraith's actions as though through some sort of fog, and the next, she suddenly had the reins, popping back into place with a jump. The big man who'd taken to following her, Ramsey Kingston, looked up in mild alarm.

"Is something wrong, Priestess?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing, Rams." she answered. "I'm fine."

He continued to watch for a while, obviously not totally convinced, but he made no further comment. When he finally looked away, she glanced over, noticed the ornamental cauldron, and had to refrain from sucking in a breath. Of course Wraith would look to make a very large and rather public steal. Her other personality rarely did anything by halves, especially these days. Shaking her head, she looked away…and froze.

"Um, boys?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss?" asked the more polite of the two goons.

"Did anyone happen to look outside to check if we're being followed?"

"Hey, I'm driving like a Paris Grand Prix pro, here, chickpea," snapped the one with less manners, "No way anyone can keep up with our trail."

"Okay," she said testily, "So who's freak in the bird costume flying about five feet behind us?"

At this, both henchmen glanced at the mirrors and swore loudly, and the van moved into a sharp swerve to the left, jostling both Guen and Ramsey in their seats, the plastic cauldron of money bouncing and sliding dangerously. They lost sight of the figure behind them, but a sickening feeling in Guen's stomach told them they hadn't seen the last of him.

* * *

Trick Deck was wiping the inside of a glass very slowly and deliberately when Erin burst through the doors of the Lounge, red curls flying behind her, her face lit up with joy.

"May! Oh May, isn't it frabjuous? Guen's back!" she cried, and Trick Deck smiled despite herself.

"It is," she answered, having to withhold a snicker at the sight of Jervis's thunderous countenance as he brought up the rear.

"Speak for yourself," the Hatter muttered, though his fiancée didn't seem to hear. She was too busy throwing her arms around her friend and crying happy tears.

"Whoa, honey, calm down!" May said, wriggling a bit in Erin's grasp. "I know you're happy and all, but you have to take it easy!"

"Oh, I know, but," Erin sighed, "I can't help it! Oh, I'm just so happy! _Now_ I know what her note meant! Oh, and I imagine the other girls are excited too! I bet Banshee is preparing something, and no doubt Ink is furious but I imagine she's just as happy! And I'll bet Magpie is helping Banshee prepare whatever surprise she has!"

At this, the strawberry-blonde woman clamped her teeth shut. She very much doubted, given her friend's behavior lately, that Magpie was rejoicing at all, especially if Edward Nygma had discovered Guen's return. She couldn't, however, bring herself to voice this worry to Erin; the redhead had been one of the worst effected by Guen's disappearance, worrying herself into a deep depression at the winged girl's fate, and the mention that one of their friends may suddenly have something against Guenhivyre would only serve to start Erin on her downward spiral again. No, best leave conversations like that to someone else, someone better suited to hear her concerns, and so she let Erin carry on. For the most part, it was half-hysterical excited babble, and Erin didn't even notice when Wendy Moore, the March Hare and Jervis's assistant, arrived to report to her superior. May occasionally interjected small commentary, but for the most part, merely nodded or said "yes" or "no" where needed, indulging Erin's need for a largely one-sided conversation.

Finally, at one point, Jervis gently placed his hands on Erin's shoulders.

"Erin darling," he said carefully, "I realize you're having a grand time, conversing with Miss Markowitz, but we have some errands to run."

She spun about at once, face still lit up with joy, and smiled fondly at her fiancé.

"Of course, Jervis dear," she replied. "Oh, it's a frabjuous day!"

"Caloo, callay." murmured Wendy out of reflex.

"Oh, and March is going to be coming with us? We _must_ go back to have tea after errands!"

May watched as they left, several concerns battling for top priority in her head. Guen certainly knew how to stir up trouble, that was for sure. Most people worried about her, some didn't care, and some wanted her dead. And if her sources were correct, Guen's little stunt at Arkham to break out Two-Face even got Dr. Avery replaced as the chief of psychiatry.

"Certainly don't do anything by halves, do you, hon?" she muttered, staring at the next glass as she wiped it down. "No, that's simply not…"

Her eyes widened, and the glass slipped from her fingers. It was only out of quick reflex that she managed to catch it before it could shatter on the bar's floor.

"Halves…"

Guen had broken Harvey Dent out of Arkham. Dent, who had in common with her friend a split personality issue. Two days prior to this escape, Dent had just been admitted back to the asylum for reasons unknown. Two weeks prior to his admittance, they'd all received a note from Guen, a note with only two words on it. Two months prior to _that_, Guen had simply vanished into thin air.

All those two's!

There was no way it was just a freaky coincidence.

"Markowitz!" hissed a voice near her ear, and she jumped violently, nearly dropping the glass again.

"Rook!" she snapped, turning to glare at him fiercely. "I ought to have you thrown out, you unwashed, un-Kosher—"

"We need to talk," he said in a low, hushed voice.

"Yeah? About you taking your callous, ill-mannered behind out of the Lounge."

He shook his head slowly, looking unusually grave.

"No," he answered, "About Cook and Nygma…and Guen."

At this she calmed down and nodded grimly.

"Give me a minute to find Rav," she answered, "And wait in the break room."'

* * *

Aidan O'Ryvin, better known by his alias of "The Raven", followed the van just by the skin of his teeth. Several times they'd nearly shaken him, but one of the many advantages of having the mystic powers passed down by his ancestors was being able to track his quarry regardless of circumstances. She was good, this Wraith, but she'd have to do better than that.

"The boss is depending on me," he remarked to himself, "And I'm depending on that haul. Miss Magpie won't notice me otherwise."

They arrived outside a building in disrepair, or at least, partially in disrepair. The van parked in the back of it and out of sight. Aidan landed on a rooftop across the street, waited, counting out five minutes, then flew to the back of the building, spotting the van almost instantly. He landed with a quiet thump on the top of it, and when nothing immediately happened, figured that he was in the clear. There was a back door, standing slightly ajar, and he slipped inside it, prowling through the hallway beyond. The place was shabby in some areas, and yet, immaculate in others. It made no sense to him, but he figured that obviously rogues poorer than he couldn't always afford the upkeep on their hideouts. Yes, that would make the most sense.

A few quick, silent jogs brought him within earshot of Wraith talking in a low grumble to her companions. A glance around a corner brought them within his sights, trudging toward what appeared to be an atrium of sorts, the two goons flanking Wraith on either side and The Mummy bringing up the rear, still carting around the plastic cauldron. Drawing on some more of his ancestral powers, Aidan kept up with them, silencing his footsteps and feeling confident they wouldn't catch onto his presence there. They entered the atrium and Wraith struck a pose.

"OH, PAPA BEAR, I'M HOOOOOOOOME!" she called in an obnoxious sing-song. Aidan dug his fingers in his ears. Of all the female rogues he knew of, only Miss Magpie wasn't obnoxious and acted out of her rank.

"Looks like you did twice as good as half of Arkham, kid." said a proud, gravelly voice. "What you estimate you got there?"

"200,000." she answered smugly.

It was then that Aidan got a clear look at the man she was talking to, and a shiver ran down his spine. He started to back up, intent on getting away but at that instant the man's mismatched eyes locked onto him, and the blood ran cold in his veins. Wraith spun a second later.

"Ramsey," the two of them spoke in tandem, and before Aidan could use his power to make himself invisible, something crushed him from behind, huge arms locking around him in an iron grip. Struggling, he attempted to beat his way free, but The Mummy had him held fast and marched him into the atrium, setting him before Two-Face. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Aidan went stock-still on the spot, praying to Tir na N'og the dangerous rogue would see fit to release him if he just managed to sweet-talk his way through this one.

"Looks like you got a stowaway." Two-Face said in a growl, his eyes dancing with a light that the young Irish thief couldn't identify. Wraith gave a hiss and clenched her fists at her sides.

"Stupid of me!" she snapped. "I'm sorry, Papa Bear."

"Rookie mistake," he waved it off, "Just don't do it a second time. So," he looked Aidan directly in the eye, "You got a name, you two-bit thief?"

"Two-bit thief?" Aidan snapped indignantly, "I'm The Raven, best thief in all o' Ireland!"

"The Raven?" Wraith snorted, and in the blink of an eye, she hoisted him off his feet by his collar. He could only blink in shock. How the hell was this puny girl so strong?

"Listen up, freckles," she continued coldly, "I'll make an exception for Magpie, since she's my friend, and Pengers, because he's cool and all, but understand _this_: I am the _only_ Rogue in all of Gotham with _any_ right to lay claim to bird-related crap at all!"

And then, from behind her, two wings, fledged with midnight-blue feathers, unfurled, six feet in their span. Aidan sucked in a breath as she stared him down, and then lost it a second later as she flung him unceremoniously to the ground.

"Better watch it there, Wraith," Two-Face said conversationally, "You might break a couple nails, getting that angry."

"What should we do with him, Papa Bear?" she asked, that same strange light entering her eyes as she fixed an eagle eye on Aidan, who froze as he got to his feet. He turned to Two-Face, who proceeded to draw something from his pocket. The older man held it out at arms' length, showing the coin to him.

"Heads, you win," he said, slowly turning it over in his hand, "Tails…you lose. Sound fair?"

He shook his head vigorously, and both Wraith and Two-Face raised their eyebrows.

"If ye'd just let me explain—" Aidan started.

"You don't get to. You followed me without an invitation, dumbass," Wraith hissed, "So now you get to play by Papa Bear's rules."

As though this was a cue, the coin suddenly flipped up, shooting into the air. Aidan watched with bated breath, each second seeming an eternity as he watched the coin flip over, over, over, and over again in the air. It began to arch back down.

"Wraith." Two-Face spoke, and she snatched the coin out of the air, slapping it down onto the back of her hand. There was a second's pause, then she removed her top hand, the both of them leaning in to see the results.

Then Wraith looked up with an evil smile on her face, and Two-Face drew something out of his other pocket.

"Sorry, mama's boy," he said dully, "But you lose."

Aidan had no time to think, to react, to protect himself. He only had enough time to register the gun was a .22 automatic before the bullet left the shaft and buried itself deep in his forehead.

Wraith winced. "That's gonna leave a stain."


	7. Chapter 6:Unexpected Minor Complications

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 6: Unexpected Minor Complications

Magpie slowly paced around the room, always keeping one eye on the window. Her nerves were on edge enough, and there was little she could do to distract herself.

Well, there was always the fact that Guenhivyre had returned.

She bit her lip.

Each time the thought returned unbidden to her, she was flooded with mixed emotions that threatened to send her into sensory overload. On one hand, Guen was her friend. The girl was kind enough for an unfortunate soul in the Rogues Gallery, and her split personality had a wicked sense of humor. The two of them had faced down her creepy stalker together, they'd had a silly, almost normal sleepover. So many fun, wonderful memories of laughter and a nostalgic sense of normality came to her in bittersweet remniscient ways whenever she thought of Guenhivyre Pendragon.

On the other hand, Eddie had practically cried tears of relief at the news the winged girl was back.

Her fists clenched at her sides unconsciously, and her head hung a bit lower.

How many years had it been now, since she had begun working for the Riddler? She'd lost count, (though she doubted it was as many as she would have liked to think,) but it still felt like an eternity. So many times, she'd come close to telling him the truth, to revealing her feelings to him. He made her happy, happy in a way she hadn't been since…since…

She shook her head, pushing away even older, less pleasant memories.

She should have seen this coming; she knew that the possibility of another woman snatching up Eddie was all too high, especially if she didn't work up the nerve to tell him. But to have that woman be one of her own friends! Someone she knew and trusted!

At one point, she had spoken with Erin about the matter, not that that had done much to help. Erin had known—she had _known_—about Edward's feelings toward Guen, but limply pleaded with Magpie to let it go, because no one knew what Guen's feelings towards Eddie were, other than friendship, or if she was even aware that he liked her in a romantic light. But it didn't matter; Magpie had been hurt enough already. The second she could get her hands on Guen, the two of them were going to have a private discussion.

She sighed, trying to push the borderline murderous thoughts from her mind as she glanced out the window again. Rook had left earlier, with just a quick mumbled explanation to Edward, then ducked out. He refused to mention his intentions to anyone else, which had Magpie on guard. Vanessa Cook did _not_ trust Rook Greene for the life of her, and a gut suspicion told her he was up to something. Something sneaky and underhanded. She had learned about how close the gunman had gotten to Lancelot Pendragon two months ago, and she was willing to bet what little money she had in her pockets that Rook was secretly communicating with Lance. Was that necessarily a bad thing? Perhaps not, but the werewolf businessman had backstabbed Edward once already, and Magpie was not inclined to trust him. And if Rook was in contact with him, then that meant Rook was equally untrustworthy.

"You know, they say if you scowl often enough then your face gets stuck like that," came a snide remark from somewhere behind her, "Quite a pity, you know."

The lead pipe was in her hands before she finished whirling around and she swung it wildly, only to have it come down on thin air. He had moved before she did, and he surveyed her idly, his arms hanging lazily at his sides as the corners of his mask pushed upward with a smile.

"You look _so_ much cuter with that mischievous grin."

"Ragdoll." she said simply, the corner of her mouth twitching upward as she relaxed her grip on the pipe. The contortionist flipped onto the table in the center of the room, and, balancing on his thin chest, he crossed his arms before him to support his chin. Anyone else would have just lied down, legs sprawled out behind them, but Ragdoll bent at the waist and the knees, crossing his skinny legs like a giant X and resting each foot of the other side of his head. He tilted his head slightly and affected a pout.

"Why so glum, honeycake?"

"Bollocks."

"Oooh, language!" he pretended to scold in a singsong voice, waggling a finger. "Naughty, naughty, _nau-ghty_."

"No, not you," she sighed, "It's…complicated."

"Oh, come on now, Thieves' Code: What's yours is mine, and what's mine is also mine. Come on, tell Raggie." He said, tilting his head again and grinning in what he clearly hoped was a winning manner. "I can keep a seeeecret."

For a moment, she hesitated. She shouldn't tell anyone, really.

But then again, word would end up getting out regardless. That was just the way of things with the Rogues Gallery. And Ragdoll _was_ cute when he acted like that.

She took a deep breath…

* * *

"PAPA BEEEAAAARRRRRRRR!"

Two-Face winced, rubbing the bad face of his coin to relax a little. He hadn't been expecting Wraith to find out so quick, but the kid kept showing an uncanny knack for figuring out everything. Hindsight was 20-20, as they always said, and the more he thought on it, the more he decided that he had seriously underestimated Wraith on more than one level. Within moments, she was charging down the stairs, her face set in grim determination, her wings puffing in annoyance, with a fretting Mummy on her heels, and a length of flimsy-looking fabric clutched in one hand. As she came closer, Two-Face realized she was holding an ornamental, rose-pink scarf.

"What…is…this?" she asked. "I found it just outside your room."

"One damn expensive scarf, if I had to guess." he answered, flipping his coin casually, only to be met with an accusing glare.

"I thought you said I was your only Baby Bird, Papa Bear." she said in steely tones.

"And you are." he answered calmly. "Can't think of anyone more worthy of being my daughter."

"So then what the hell is this?" she demanded, waving the scarf angrily.

"What are you doing with my Hermés?" came a sudden shriek. Without warning, a woman came running over to them, clad in a voluminous bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head, and she glared murder at Wraith as she snatched at the scarf. "Do you have any idea how much that cost?"

The winged girl gave her a flat look and tossed the scarf over her shoulder to Ramsey, who caught it blinking in surprise.

"No." she replied indifferently, crossing her arms. "Who's the bimbo, Papa Bear?"

"_Bimbo_?" the woman said quietly, color rising in her thin cheeks. "…You didn't tell me you had a…a kid."

"She's half-adopted. Sort of." Two-Face replied. "Cassandra Derricks, this is Wraith. Currently. You'll know when she switches back to Guen. Wraith, this is Cassandra. She and I had a meeting while you were away. She's going to be staying with us for a while."

She looked at him with a glare fit to kill. "How long is 'a while?'"

Two-Face shrugged. "Until Black Mask forgets that she pissed him off."

There was a brief pause as shock registered on the young rogue's face, followed by an oversized smirk, and within seconds Wraith was on the ground, rolling around and howling with laughter.

"You pissed off _Black Mask_? Oh my gawd, you _idiot_! Oh gawd, Ramsey, get me some tissues! This is too funny! HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!"

"Is she _always_ this charming?" Cassandra muttered.

"Trust me," Two-Face chuckled, "You should see her on one of her _bad_ days."

* * *

"Sir, I really do believe this is a highly unwise idea…"

"As you have mentioned at least two times prior to this one. Trust me when I say that your opinion is noted, Mr. Montaine."

Gerard grimaced, watching the people walking on the sidewalk and staring at the blackened windows of the limosine. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, even though the car was turned off, and he squirmed nervously. It wasn't as though they couldn't avoid the task; Dorian had _ordered_ Lancelot to the site of the burgled charity fundraiser, and the werewolf couldn't very well refuse. He had to search for clues as to his younger half-sister's whereabouts, and there was really no better place to do so.

But they had arrived only minutes before to find that there were still police swarming the area, and then Lance had schemed up an absolutely ridiculous plan in order to get over there and track down the evidence they needed. It wasn't failsafe, it wasn't foolproof, and it grated on Gerard's every nerve. Especially the frayed sense of protectiveness he felt toward his young employer after finding that ominous letter. However, he was a loyal man, and he would serve regardless of whatever issue he took with the matter.

"Are you ready?"

He sighed. "As ready as I suppose I shall ever be, Mr. Pendragon."

"Open my window."

Reluctantly, he lowered the rear driver's side window. There was a pause, a lumbering shake in the backseat, and a massive blur flew out the opening. Gerard was stumbling out his door a second later, not needing to fake the panic.

"Get back here! Duke, get back here! SOMEONE CATCH THAT DOG!" he screamed, as Lance, in full, fluffy wolf form, charged like a bullet toward the roped off park. People scattered in surprise, not wanting to get anywhere near a "dog" the size of a small bear, and even some of the police officers didn't look up in time before Lance shot past them, running until he came to the podium where the firecrackers had gone off and started sniffing.

"STOP THAT DOG!" Gerard yelled again, pointing wildly, and the other officers immediately caught on as he slowed down, going after Lance for him. He huffed a sigh he hoped would be mistaken for panting; that should be enough to buy the young businessman just enough time to catch the scent he needed.

"What's all the commotion about over here?" demanded a voice behind him. The back of his neck prickled in annoyance. This was what he disliked about dealing with police officers; they were brash, rude, reckless, loud, and walked all over everyone as though their badges were a divine sign of superiority. Still, he steeled himself, put on his best face and turned around.

"I'm sorry, Officer…" he initially meant to pause so as to be granted a name, but he ended up choking in mild surprise instead as he slowly lifted his hands. The policeman who had come up to him was a young man—at least, he was sure it was a man—with shoulder-length blonde hair, full pouting lips, big blue eyes, and enough make-up to last until the end of the year.

_Good lord_, he thought, _I've been accosted by an initiate member of the Gendertrap Miniskirt Brigade._

"Rossin," the policeman answered in a feminine voice, "Officer Andrew Rossin." He tilted his head and gave Gerard an odd look. "Is there something I can help you with, Mister…?"

"Gerard Montaine." he answered briskly, clearing his throat to cover up his uncouth reaction, "And yes, actually. You can help me retrieve my employer's dog."

The officer's face paled under the make-up as he swallowed loudly, his eyes going wide in fear. "Did you say…d-dog?"

* * *

The elevator flight to the roof wasn't so bad. But it seemed to take longer with each time, and more and more it seemed the seconds would just drag on, like a lazy, overweight sloth.

"The music." Logann Zeus said to himself out loud. "I'm going to petition to have the music changed in this stupid elevator."

Finally, the elevator came to a shuddering halt as it reached the roof, and the bell went off with a little _ding_ as the doors slid open. He stepped out, hefting the several bags of groceries on his arms, and three more that he carried on his lizard tail, now that there was no one around to see him.

At one point in time, the roof of the Zeus building had housed an impressive replica of a Greek temple, the supposed throne room of the Pantheon itself. But since Maximillian Zeus had been admitted to Arkham Asylum, Logann saw fit to restore and rebuild the temple to his own liking. To anyone looking upon it normally, it still looked as it had before, thanks to the cloaking technology that Batman had helped Incubus set up in the gargoyles surrounding the roof. But it was just a holographic illusion set in place to keep the inquisitive at bay. When Logan entered between the two vast Corinthian columns, the illusion fell away before his eyes, revealing a humble, one-story house. He approached the door and knocked on it as lightly as he could, and a few seconds later, it swung open and he came inside.

"I come bearing gifts!" he said brightly.

"You went grocery shopping again?"

"Logann, you shouldn't have."

The last speaker was a man several years his senior, with red hair that had a touch of gray at the temples. Kirk Langstrom's brown eyes stared at him sadly as he relieved the young man of some of his burden, carrying the groceries to the kitchen.

"Now, Kirk, don't belittle his kindness!" said his wife, Francine Langstrom, as she pulled the bags off the end of Logann's tail. The young man bit his lip, reminding himself of the situation at hand.

Two months ago, he had come to Langstrom's aid when Kirk and Francine had been attacked by the werewolf, Lancelot Pendragon. It didn't take long for Logann as Incubus, with the help of Batman, to deduce that both Emile Dorian and Achilles Milo were after Kirk, and for reasons that could mean the death of Logann, Lancelot, and their shared younger half-sister. The three of them were the remnants of an old project funded by Roland Daggett, a project to create the ultimate mutant soldier, a perfect mix of human cunning and animal senses. And they were all three bonded neurologically through microchips implanted in their brains, to follow the orders of the scientists responsible for their development. For Logann, that was Langstrom. But unlike Dorian and Milo, Langstrom wasn't ambitious and cruel, or obsessed and cruel. But not even he could have stopped the bonding process.

Because if any of the three scientists died, so did the mutant bonded to them. That was how deep the bond ran.

But two months ago, Logann had also learned the terrifying truth.

There was a password to deactivate the neurochips, to free him, his sister, and Lancelot. And the only one who knew this verbal command password was Langstrom.

Unfortunately, that meant he was a target, and if the other two scientists wanted to keep their perfect little pets, they would want the password to die with Langstrom.

Dorian had gone after Langstrom the same night Batman and Incubus (and a whole crew of other people besides,) had rescued Guen and captured Milo. Kirk had managed to escape with Francine in time, but they were no longer safe at their home. Both men knew where they lived now. And so, at Incubus's insistence, Langstrom had done the only thing he and his wife could do.

They disappeared.

And it was only through incredible restraint and paranoia that they had remained hidden, living here, comfortably, at the top of the Zeus building.

But Kirk was still agitated, and itching to be free, if only for a few hours. Logann knew the feeling all too well.

"Look, don't worry, Langstrom." he said gently, following them into the kitchen. "All you have to do is keep laying low for a little while longer."

But the scientist was already shaking his head sadly.

"You didn't see the news earlier, did you?"

"No…"

"Your sister's back. She crashed the Skating Charity Fundraiser in the park."

Logann stiffened with shock, and Langstrom continued.

"And if we can see that plastered all over the news, _they_ can, too."

Logann sighed, forcing his shoulders to relax. Too many emotions were starting to flood him at once, worry for his friends the most prominent.

"Crap. This is great, just great." he muttered.

"All the things in the world to say, and all he can come up with is 'crap.'" Francine remarked dryly, showing her rare, humorous side as she cracked a smile. He almost retorted, when his cell phone went off and he brought it up to his ear. "Logann."

The scientists watched as the young man's face darkened as the person over the cell phone spoke and he answered tersely. Finally they had finished their tirade and he snapped the phone shut, working his jaw.

"What is it?" Kirk asked.

"Things just got better," Logann said sarcastically with a bitter smile, "The cops are here."


	8. Chapter 7: Ghost busted

A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!

* * *

Chapter 7: Ghost…busted

"Officers, please take a seat! To what do I owe the occasion?"

The blue-clad police stared at him with hard eyes, suspicious of his intentions, but they seated themselves nonetheless on the lobby's guest chairs. Logann Zeus himself snatched one of the chairs and flipped it around, sitting on it backwards. He had to supress a grin at the looks on their faces; he was flagrantly acting as though he had no qualms with them, and it was driving the cops nuts below the surface.

"We're following a few leads," said a female officer, withdrawing a couple of photographs from her pocket and thrusting one of them forward, "What can you tell us about the criminal known as Wraith?"

The photo was a grainy shot, but the figure was unmistakable, even with the silver in her hair now. Logann raised his eyebrows.

"I'm curious as to why you would come to me to ask these things, Officer…?"

"Johnson. Officer Shakia Johnson," she answered stonily, her dark eyes narrowing, "And I should think the answer to your question would be obvious to a blind man, Mr. Zeus, so don't play dumb. Intel's done it's homework; we _know_ you're Wraith's older half-brother."

"Then if your Intel's done all that homework," he answered just as stonily back, "You would know that I'm only one of her older half-brothers."

"Oy! We intend to interrogate Mr. Pendragon when we find him, so chill out Greek boy." Detective Harvey Bullock grumbled around a pretzel he was munching on. The corners of Logann's mouth turned down as he gave the detective a flat look. He hadn't had too many one-on-one encounters with Bullock, but he could easily see why Batman wasn't overly fond of the guy.

"Fine by me," he said slowly, "There's no love lost between Pendragon and I."

Shakia's eyebrows shot up at that, but she said nothing, and he took it as a cue to go on.

"But you have to know Guen takes the Pendragon last name. The late Arterus Pendragon _was_ her father, after all," he said pointedly, "So chances are more likely Lance might know more about her disappearance and resurfacing."

"So you do know about her missing from police radar for almost three months?" said a third officer toward the back of their group.

"Considering that it was our mother on the news, sobbing her eyes out because sis had suddenly disappeared right out of our apartment, I'd be a bit of an idiot not to know."

"Are you getting smart with me, Zeus?" Shakia growled.

"I should hope I'm not getting dumb." He answered mildly.

"Johnson, cool your jets," Bullock sighed, "Ain't no point in asking Mr. Greco-Pants stupid questions. Zeus, I'm gonna put it to ya like so: your daddy is locked up in Arkham 'cause he flew one too many loops around the cuckoo's nest. An' now your sister's out wreakin' havoc for our boys. You can connect the dots; we're gonna talk to you about this and the best thing you can hope ta do is cooperate."

Logann stared at him for a long moment, then finally hung his head and sighed.

"Look, I don't know anything about it," he said quietly, "If I did, I'd say something. I don't like the idea of my sister being arrested, but it's better than the thought she's out there, possibly hurting people. It will kill Mom when she hears, and frankly, I'd rather see Guen come home. I know that won't happen, though. But I don't know where she disappeared to for three months, and the raid on the skate charity gig was a shock to me too. If I learn anything, I'll come to you guys, but as far as things stand right now, I can't tell you any more than what I've seen on television."

"You better be sure of that." Bullock said gruffly. "We've got our eyes on ya, Zeus. Come on, boys! Let's go."

Logann watched silently as the officers filed out of the building, prickles of apprehension jabbing at his spine as he watched them go. Shakia Johnson gave him a frown over her shoulder as she walked out, and his anxiety grew. If he had to guess, he would say that she was easily the most dangerous beat cop the force had, though he didn't know why. Something about her was just…off.

"I'll be seein' you later, pretty-boy." She said acidly, to which he gave her one of his more condescending brilliant smiles, bearing all his teeth in a huge grin.

"And I'm gonna break your face, psycho chick." He muttered through his teeth.

He knew nothing other than what he had seen on the television. He hadn't been lying when he told Bullock that. But he knew who might know more about his sister's sudden reappearance, and he knew ways he could find out.

He stood up from the chair abruptly and began to stomp back toward the elevator, making one of his employees jump.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Zeus?" the man asked.

"Yeah," he growled, "Fire up my bike and have her waiting in the basement level of the garage. I have to see someone."

* * *

Having breakfast with Two-Face could be something easily considered a disagreeable affair, as he was never pleasant to anyone first thing in the morning. This matter was what had prompted Wraith to begin the new "family" tradition of "second breakfast," inspired by reading too much Tolkien, and ultimately put into effect after a shortage of Pop-Tarts. First breakfast would be something good, filling, and wholesome, and second breakfast would be two hours later and consist of, quite frankly, anything Wraith wanted and could think up that wasn't as filling. "Papa Bear" had taken to the idea and his "Baby Bird" felt like she was having breakfast like a proper family for the first time in she couldn't even remember how long.

On that particular morning, however, she was fighting the urge to snarl around the food in her mouth.

_When I imagined that I would finally be having a 'family breakfast',_ she thought, _I didn't think it would wind up including a stupid stick-thin bimbo blonde._

Cassandra had not been awake for first breakfast, much to the winged girl's relief, but second breakfast had barely begun when the woman graced the kitchen with her presence, glaring disdainfully at the assortment of junk food on the table. She gave a derisive sniff and took one of the chairs to sit in with a pompous air, as though she were royalty having to settle for something less than her usual standards.

"A college student's idea of a breakfast, I see." she remarked acidly.

"Got a problem with it?" Wraith growled. Cassandra only gave her an icy look before staring at the food, as though unsure whether she was actually seeing chips, Toaster Strudel, bagels, ramen, Wonka candy, pickles, and cheeseball-n-crackers all coexisting on the same table. Wraith glared back at her, then shot Two-Face a look that clearly asked the are-you-kidding-me-right-now question. The gangster shrugged at both women, punctuating his silence by grabbing two of the Toaster Strudels and adding them to his plate.

"This is borderline disgusting." Cassandra muttered darkly, tentatively reaching across the table to snatch a bagel and cream cheese. She was looking about for a butter knife when she added, "And this is what you do _every_ morning for breakfast?"

"Second breakfast." Two-Face corrected her, snapping one of the strudel pastries in half, nodding at the smug smile that came over Wraith's face. "First breakfast might be more your speed. Second breakfast was Baby Bird's idea."

"My idea." Wraith echoed proudly, the feathers on her wings rising a bit.

"I could have guessed." Came the dry remark. Wraith shot her another look, watching closely as the older woman began to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"What?" Cassandra demanded when she caught her staring.

"Just wondering what brand of rat poison would dissolve in coffee fastest." She replied innocently, grinning when the little color there was in the blonde's cheeks drained to a dead white.

"Calm down, Baby Bird." Two-Face remarked as quietly and gently as he was able in his gravelly voice. "You're sounding a bit more bloodthirsty than normal."

"Gee, can't imagine why," she answered, sarcasm practically running off her words. She paused for a moment, then glared at Cassandra again. "Don't you have any, I don't know, _friends_ you could stay with?"

"I don't have friends, just people I can tolerate," she replied coolly, "Though I suppose if I said that around Gary and Kyle, they would lecture me on the matter."

"And what are those two?" Two-Face remarked, arching an eyebrow.

"Leftover…partners in crime. From high school." she answered haltingly.

"Your only friends are a couple of dudes you knew in high school?" Wraith snorted.

"Since elementary school, actually," Cassandra sighed, poking at her untouched bagel. "Kyle's been out making a name for himself in the criminal underworld, working for Edward Nygma under the alias of 'Cube—'"

The effect was instantaneous: the mismatched eyes on the far end of the table met the bright green ones on the opposite end, and Wraith's stomach began doing flips as she glanced intently back down at her plate full of chips. If Cassandra had noticed the exchange, she didn't let on, nor did she miss a beat.

"—and knowing Gary he'll wind up running around in some costume like the screwball fanboy he is, probably as some monster from his incorrigible Dungeons and Dragons obsession."

"They sound like fun pair." Two-Face chuckled.

"Wait, slow down," Wraith said, standing bolt upright in her chair, something Cassandra said tickling at the back of her thoughts, "You said this guy plays what?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," Cassandra repeated in a long-suffering sigh, "Since he could breathe."

Wraith paused and slowly sat back down in her seat, mind racing. Dragons. Something about the mythical creature continued to nag at the back of her thoughts. She had started her career stealing different things related to dragons, rather than ghosts like most would have expected, given her criminal name. But in time, she and her other personality had come to learn that the dragons were somehow a prompt from their subconscious mind trying to link them back to something in their past. The only problem there was they had learned most of Guenhivyre Pendragon's past; her older half-brother, Lance, had told Wraith what she and Guen didn't remember about their childhood, and most of the suppressed memories, particularly the bad ones, returned to her shortly afterward. And yet, Wraith still didn't remember what was so key, so crucial about a dragon's role in any of it. She had always assumed it had to do with the last name, Pendragon, but her gut told her that wasn't the case.

"Wraith?" Two-Face asked, his voice sounding distant and muffled. She glanced up, feeling rather grave. She had relayed all of this to her "Papa Bear" shortly after joining up with him, and he knew the clue of dragons still bothered her.

"Sorry. It's just…you know." She murmured, and he gave a slow nod. Just then, another voice began to speak, this one coming from within her own head.

_The whole 'dragons' issue is bothering me too, you know._

_ Guen?_ Wraith prompted, feeling a bit relieved. It was very odd, knowing that she was the split personality of the true Guenhivyre Pendragon, and being able to communicate with Guen to an extent. Lately she had begun to worry; she had been spending so much time in control, and Guen had been very, very quiet. It was an odd sensation, realizing she had a bit of a big sister complex over her other side.

_I sometimes feel like there's an image half-formed in my…in our memories,_ Guen's voice was a soothing balm, despite its nervous edge. _But whenever I try to focus on it, it vanishes._

_ Like a ghost,_ Wraith thought back at her with a touch of smug irony, _I think I know what you're talking about. Sometimes I get glimpses of what your brainwaves are thinking or seeing, and I can't figure this thing out either. Did you have a suggestion?_

_ Yes,_ Guen answered hesitantly, _But I doubt you're gonna like it._

"Try me." She spoke out loud, ignoring the look Cassandra gave her.

_I think you or I should take another look at the dragon haul you stole. Perhaps if we study it long enough, it'll give us a clue about the significance of the dragons._

_ Well, that doesn't sound bad._ Wraith remarked.

_Wraith,_ Guen responded, her inner voice sounding a touch nervous in the way a too-patient adult is when they're about to give a child bad news, _We left the dragon stuff at Professor Crane's lab._

Her green eyes went wide with realization and she bit her lip to avoid a scream.

"FUDGE BUCKET!" she shouted, kicking the table sharply and jostling second breakfast. She must have startled them, because Cassandra had leapt from her chair and was backing away with a wary look, and Two-Face had pulled out his coin, rubbing it between his fingers slowly.

"Ugh, sorry," she groaned, faceplanting on the table. "Guen just gave me some bad news."

Cassandra's look immediately became skeptical and she glanced between the two Rogues, but Two-Face paused and then nodded, slowly flipping his coin and catching it.

"Fair enough," he murmured, "What is it?"  
"The dragon clue," Wraith answered, "It's still bugging us. Guen suggested that we should look at my dragon collection I stole and see if that won't jog any memories. Except it's still at the Scarecrow's lab."

"Huh. Can't say I think Doctor Crane would be too thrilled to see you showing up after being underground for the past couple months."

"Yeah, no kidding. I think he'd actually be the last one I'd need to worry about. But you get what I'm saying, right? I can't just show up there before I'm ready to come back to all the girls and everyone. If I said anything, Crane would keep me there and call up all the other girls."

"You're going to have to face them all sooner or later." Two-Face stated coolly.

"But Papa Bear, I'm just not ready," she sighed in exasperation, "At least, not yet. What am I gonna do?"

He gave her a long look, then caught his coin as it came down from a flip and held it out so she could see the good face.

"Good face, you sneak into Johnny-boy's lab. Bad face, you man up and talk to everyone again." He explained. "Sound fair?"

She sat chewing her lip for a second, not liking the odds of either option, but finally nodded, and he flipped the coin into the air. Finally it began to arc back down, and he snatched it with his right hand, slapping it over into his left. Wraith got up from her seat and walked over to see as he opened the scarred hand to reveal—

"Good side." She exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Looks like you're sneaking in," he grunted, "Good luck tonight, kiddo."

"Thanks, Papa Bear!" She replied, swooping down to give him a quick hug before running out of the kitchen, drawing her switchblade scythe. Cassandra glared at the winged girl as she left, the wheels in her head turning.

"Mr. Dent—" she began slowly.

"It's Two-Face to you, Legs." he growled. Her eyebrows raised sharply.

"Two-Face…may I see your cell phone for a moment?"

* * *

The outside of Crane Chemical Labs looked the same as ever, vague and harmless, but that was hardly what worried her. The trouble was, she couldn't see if any of the interior lights were on, let alone if anyone was inside.

_Should check the garage. _Wraith remarked in the back of her mind.

_The professor doesn't have a car he drives, last I recall,_ Guen thought back to her, _And I know for a fact neither Ink or Twitch own cars._

Still it never had hurt to be thorough, and she wound up entering the garage first, only to find it empty as she had suspected. With a relieved exhale, she dropped into a crouch and made her way slowly toward the door, straining her ears to see if she could hear anything inside. When she was satisfied she heard nothing beyond the door or the walls, she carefully leveled her fists, and brought her manacle and wristband together with a sharp crash. Instantly the drowsiness washed over her once again, followed by the weightless sensation and weird feeling of not knowing where her stomach was. She gave a quick glance down and found that once more, only her manacle and wristband remained solid, where the rest of her arms looked like pulsing, shimmering mist. With a frown, she concentrated on the wristband first, then the manacle. Making the two of them insubstantial remained difficult, as though they insisted on remaining solid, and it was something she had never figured out; why did those two accessories have such a difficult time becoming insubstantial when the rest of her outfit functioned like it was an extension of her?

This wasn't the time to question the matter. After all, she could only maintain the accessories' insubstantiality for so long, and she needed it in order to get through the door. When they finally became ghost-like enough for her, she threw herself toward the door, shutting her eyes as best as she could. Passing through metal was always a bit frightening; it maintained a certain level of temperature, usually a very cold one. Perhaps it was a silly, child-like worry, but Guen feared that one day passing through metal would wind up killing her, as though the sheer chill would turn her solid again, and she would be killed halfway through.

But her worry was unfounded this day, and she fell inside the lab door unharmed. Exhaling again as she opened her eyes, she shakily focused on her feet and legs to maintain balance, releasing her mental hold on her wristband and manacle, which gave a soft pop of displaced air as they became solid again.

_Geez, it's been forever since I've been in this place._ She thought.

_I think we could have done without coming back._ Wraith threw in.

_You heard Papa Bear directly: we would have to come back and face everyone eventually. Even if they're going to be ticked because we disappeared for two months to train._ She replied, the thought just as much for her as it was for her other personality.

_Whatever, _Wraith sulked, _I still don't like it._

She pushed forward through the main laboratory room, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with déjà vu, and thanked her good fortune that the room was dark, only the early evening light filtering in through the high windows.

"So far so good, Miss Phantom Thief of Gotham." She told herself with a nervous chuckle. It was a dorky nickname. Even Wraith thought so. But it had gotten stuck in her head at one point, and she was seriously considering adopting it as some sort of title.

_Would you quit fantasizing about getting a headline in the newspaper?_ Wraith griped, her thoughts becoming a bit clearer. _I'm going to take the reins, if you can't be serious enough—_

"Zip it." Guen hissed, crossing the room quickly and opening the door to the hall. Only a few of the long ceiling lights were on, flickering faintly, but that didn't mean anything. Those lights ran on emergency back-up power generators, if she was remembering correctly, and it didn't necessarily mean that Crane and his ragtag family were home. The nostalgia and déjà vu only grew stronger as she passed quietly through the halls, remembering the first time she had been there, back when her schoolgirl crush on the Doctor of Fear had gotten her into a life-changing, huge mess.

"Feels really weird to be back here." She whispered to the hall, her steps slow and deliberate. Nothing had changed, though; Professor Crane wasn't much for interior decorating, Twitch was probably too nervous to do anything about it, and she sincerely doubted that Jonathan would allow Ink to go crazy decorating the walls. No, nothing had changed, and that gave her some relief. Before long, she located the door to the room that had once been hers, shared with Ink. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the manacle and wristband again, willing them insubstantial just long enough to push her essence through the door.

The room was dark inside, almost pitch-black, but that was of little consequence to her. She snapped the accessories together again and sucked in a breath as she felt her stomach plunge back into place, going solid once more. She opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness to the spot where she remembered having set up her 'dragon' collection. After a few seconds, her raptor vision kicked in, piercing some of the layers of darkness, and she was able to make out the faint outlines of her first steals. She grinned a bit, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

"Why Miss Pendragon, I daresay you're the best ghost in Gotham." she giggled slightly, taking a step forward.

Too late she felt her boot catch on something, and before she could gasp, it had a hold on her ankle. The air was pulled from her lungs as she was yanked off her feet, and the ceiling rushed down to meet her as she was hauled upside-down into the air. More painful still was the sudden shine of a flashlight in her eyes, and she closed them immediately to block out the beam.

"And _I'm _the best Ghostbuster in Gotham!" came a familiar voice.

There was a small click, followed by a soft glow outside her eyelids, and she blinked, glancing around and groaning. Twitch stood by the light switch, looking slightly guilty and upset, and Professor Crane was seated on the bed on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Hmm," he remarked, "I'll admit, I'm impressed that trap worked."

Guenhivyre took another quick glance, up this time, and found a long black cord that had her dangling from the ceiling. Of _course_ she walked right into that trap.

"Fudge bucket." She muttered.

"And _you're_ in trouble."

The black cord gave a shudder, and Guen could only watch the upside-down room spin as she was twirled around by the ankle, a thunderous face with mismatched eyes suddenly looming in her vision.

"Guennie," Ink said in a stern, cold voice, "You've got some explaining to do."


	9. Chapter 8: The All Estrogen Reunion

**A/N: Since I finished uploading all of "Freaky Love", I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!**

* * *

Chapter 8: The All-Estrogen Reunion

She was already kicking herself mentally for getting caught, and Wraith berating her for it as well wasn't helping matters any. Still, Guen was able to reflect on the current situation and realized that things could have been worse. A whole lot worse. She had been immediately tied to a chair in the kitchen area, barely any room left to budge a wing should it start to itch, and left to stare down Jonathan Crane while Ink called the rest of their friends up. Yes, things definitely could have gone a whole lot worse. She watched the good Doctor of Fear carefully, the two of them sizing one another up like pitbulls about to fight over scraps.

"Professor Crane." She said simply.

"Miss Pendragon." He replied.

"So when are you going to do it?" She asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When are you going to man up and ask Ink out on a date?"

His thin face flushed bright red and he crossed his arms irritably, working his jaw slowly before answering. "Don't try to distract my attention from the current situation, Guenhivyre." He snapped. "You seem to be forgetting you have broken into my laboratory without permission."

"_Really_?" Guen groaned in exasperation, slumping in her chair. "Saying that I broke in would imply that, oh I don't know, I actually _broke_ in. Last I checked, ghosting through a solid door and a few walls did not require me to physically pick a lock, smash windows, or break a door down."

"Quit dissembling, Miss Pendragon. The fact of the matter remains that however passively you did so, you still broke into my laboratory, which is a felony."

"So…what are you going to do?" She asked casually. "Call the cops on me? I'm sorry, I don't think that Wraith and I have _quite_ the same standing reputation with Gotham PD as you. Forgive me if I'm inclined to believe that situation would end badly for everyone."

"Which is the most unfortunate reason why I cannot do anything about the matter except leave you in the hands of Ink and the rest of your little gaggle of girlfriends."

"I'd almost say that's not a punishment, but given the current circumstances—"

"You mean your abrupt disappearance that caused absolute bedlam within the circle of our particularly bizarre family that has formed? Yes, go on."

"—you might just be the most heartless man I know."

"Please, flattery gets you nowhere, Guenhivyre. I would have thought you would at least remember that."

"So when are you going to ask Ink out on a date?"

Jonathan gave a ragged sigh of annoyance and rubbed his temples wearily.

"I daresay you're starting to take on more of Wraith's characteristics than you may realize." He remarked.

"Or you know, she's just coaching me on what quips to use on you."

He almost let out an unintelligible noise of anger, when Ink walked into the room, face still thunderous, and addressed him.

"The girls are going to be here soon, Jonathan."

"I am aquiver with anticipation." He responded through clenched teeth.

"Good, then you go let them in. You probably don't want to be in here for this anyway. It could get ugly." She added, and Guen gave a huge gulp of apprehension. She'd seen an angry Ink before, and it wasn't necessarily an experience she wanted to repeat, especially not when she was the cause of the anger. She immediately tried to throw a pleading look in Jonathan's direction, but he merely gave her one of those superior smiles that told her this was a matter of bad karma and exited the room with a bit of a spring in his step.

"Smug bastard." Guen muttered under her breath, and immediately wished she hadn't as Ink turned and glared at her at full 'Ink death-glare' power.

"So…" Ink said, taking deep breaths and crossing her arms, "SO…"

Guen bit her lower lip, not wanting to say much of anything. _Wraith, any ideas?_ She thought desperately, but her other personality had abruptly gone quiet. Still, it didn't appear that Ink was going to launch into whatever she wanted to say until Guen made a remark, so she tried to pick the least annoying thing she could think of.

"Hey, Ink. Uhh…how about those Metropolis tabloids, eh?"

"GUENNIE!" She roared, stomping over to the chair and grinding her knuckles against the sides of Guen's head in a rather rough noogie. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WE'VE ALL BEEN WORRIED SICK! YOU NEVER CALLED OR EVEN LEFT A MESSAGE SAYING WHERE YOU WENT!"

"Ooooowwww! _Ink_!"

"Oh, _no_ you don't! I'm _hardly_ finished! You could have died, for all we knew, or been kidnapped by Milo! That's right, we all saw the news, we know his bail was paid! He could have kidnapped you for all we knew, and you could be _dead_! But no, then you send us a note with just two words, and we were all worried sick! Do you have any idea what that was like for any of us? Do you?! Why didn't you tell us in the first place?! Not even Incubus knew where you were! And don't think we didn't try asking at Dragon's Blood, Inc. either! Lancey's butler, Gerard! He wouldn't even talk to us, because no one knows where Lancey's at either!"

Ink paused for a breath, starting to sniffle as she sucked in air, her shoulders heaving, and Guen refrained from speaking, realizing what was happening. Ink was trying not to cry, she was so angry. Guen averted her eyes to the floor, chewing her lower lip. Maybe she did deserve this lecture after all.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was? I've had to try telling myself for two months that you were okay, that you were going to call sometime! I don't need to get into Jonny's chemicals to imagine some bad things that could have happened to you! What if you were lying somewhere with a broken wing? I couldn't help you, because I wouldn't be able to find you, because you never told us anything! We're your friends! Friends are supposed to tell each other these things, especially if they're this important!"

Guen sighed, shut her eyes, and nodded. It was all true, and it was beyond unfair of her to have left her friends in the dark.

"F-friends tell friends these th-things…It's part of b-being f-f-friends…" Came the shuddering, telltale sniffle.

"Ink?" Guen asked, looking up, startled when she saw the beginning of dark tears forming around Ink's eyes. The blonde girl gave a big hiccup and lunged forward, pulling her—and the chair, by extension—into a crushing bear hug.

"I m-m-missed you…" Ink managed to get out before she started to sob silently, shoulders heaving. Guen had an initial moment of panic; she still was getting used to her other personality's more…exotic friends, and she wasn't entirely sure how to go about comforting Ink.

_Take a backseat, Pendragon, _Came a cool voice in the back of her mind, _I've got this one._

She relaxed, her entire body went slack for a few seconds, then she righted again.

"I missed you too, Inky." Wraith said as gently as she could managed in her scratchy, rough voice. "And I'm sorry about this whole mess. I didn't want any of you to get worried or upset, honest."

"Then w-why didn't you t-tell us?" She asked, looking up with huge, pleading mismatched eyes. "Where did you go? What happened to you?"

"Sorry, honey," She offered her distraught friend an apologetic smile, "But if you've got all the girls on the way, then I'm not gonna spill it just yet. I don't exactly want to go over the details four or five times."

Ink stared at her for a long moment, and for a second Wraith figured she might object, but finally she just gave another hiccup and nodded in consent.

"Okay…I understand." She sniffled, before promptly renewing her bear hug and crying quietly. "S-s-sorryyyyy…I'm…guh-getting ink…all…all over…your…ou-outfit."

"Hey, you need a few seconds to cry it out, sweetie," Wraith said with a half-shrug, "It's no big deal. It'll wash. And hey, if it doesn't, it's all black; it'll blend."

"Q-quit being s-so casual! I'm still m-mad at you." Ink hiccupped.

"If you say so." She said with a knowing smile. "And knowing Banshee and Magpie, they're probably mad at me too. And you all have a right to be; probably not as much of a right as my mother and—" she hesitated, not wanting to say the name that was on her mind, "—and my brothers."

"What are you gonna tell th-them?" Her friend asked, her sobbing almost completely dying down as she wiped her mismatched eyes. "Your mom was on the news a day or two after you vanished. Sh-she was a wreck. She was begging you to come home."

"Oh man…she was?" She murmured, her smile sliding off her face like oil, "Oh, _fudge bucket._"

"What?" Ink asked.

"I screwed up way worse than I thought." She muttered, mind racing through the unpleasant realization again and again, a broken record. "I shouldn't have practically broadcasted my return to all of Gotham."

"Well, it was kind of silly to do," Came the too-generous offer. Wraith stared at her, eyes going wider and wider, stunned that her friend wasn't realizing what she had. If her mother had said Guen had disappeared, and then she had made her return on Gotham television, then that meant…

She started to speak, to break the unpleasant news that terrified her more than she cared to admit, when Twitch entered the kitchen.

"E-e-excuse me, Miss Ink, M-Miss Wraith," he said, a touch nervous, "But I th-think your f-friends have arrived."

"Oh, joy." Wraith groaned, shutting her eyes tight. Here came the tidal wave of lectures and questions.

"B-be sure to th-thank Miss D-Derricks. Th-that nice lady called me on M-Mr. Dent's cell phone," Twitch said gently, "And let us kn-know you were c-coming."

She opened her eyes faster than she thought possible.

"WHAT?" She demanded.

"She gave us the heads-up so we could have a proper reunion!" Ink said happily. The side of Wraith's face began to twitch violently, and she went tense under the ink-ropes, anger seeping through her entire body.

"_Cassandra_." She growled. "Oh, I am gonna _strangle_ that—"

"Ink! Ink, we're here!" A voice called from the hallway. "What's up? What's going on?"

"—Pixie stick."

Within a matter of seconds, four more figures rushed into the kitchen, all with a varying degree of tense worry in their posture. The first was a pretty redhead, curls disheveled and clothes half-backwards from being thrown on at last second. The second was a strawberry-blonde dressed like a casino dealer, complete with the green visor, appropriate, given her line of work. Following her was a mocha-skinned, chocolate-haired young woman in black toting twin Uzis like an American Lara Croft. And bringing up the rear was a very pale girl with rose-pink hair, also dressed in black and carrying a lead pipe in her hands.

"Ink, what's wrong, what—"

The blonde girl stepped aside to let the other women have a clear look—and path—to the captured, winged rogue. There followed an incredibly tense, pointed silence as all eyes turned to Wraith, who fidgeted and squirmed, and finally made a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"Uh…heh-hey girls. How's it going?" She asked.

Nobody was ever sure after that whether it was Erin or Akira who reached her first, but both of them charged in that second and tackled Wraith in a hug, Erin dissolving into loud, inarticulate sobs.

"WRAITH!" Akira practically screamed at another decibel level in her ear, "GIRL, WHERE YOU BEEN?!"

"Eardrums, eardrums," Wraith muttered, "I still need those."

"Y-y-you're baaaaaaaackkk!" Erin bellowed before burying her face into her friend's shoulder and bawling some more.

"You're back." Vanessa echoed flatly, lowering her pipe, blinking slowly.

"I knew you'd be back," May declared calmly with a knowing smile, "When you were ready."

"That ain't no excuse!" Akira snapped.

"You used a double-negative." Wraith pointed out in vain.

"A-Akira's r-r-riiiiiight!" Erin sobbed. "You should have tooollld uuusss!"

"I know," Wraith said gently, "I know. And it was wrong of me not to."

"Damn right, it was!" Akira snapped again. "You have any idea how fuggin' scary that was?! What the hell happened, woman?! You had us all worried sick!"

"She's got a point, honey." May added, giving a small nod.

"Girls, girls, calm down a little," Ink jumped in, trying to lightly pull Akira off Wraith and the chair. "I already gave her a lecture."

"_You_ may have, but I haven't!" Akira said.

"I think we all need to settle the yotz down a sec," May said in her soothing voice, walking over and trying to disperse the odd dog-pile. "We need to just sit down and talk, preferably with some drinks."

Ink made a face at that, glancing at her friend sideways. "You know Jonathan doesn't keep alcohol here. I won't allow it." She reminded them.

"We can make an exception for tonight." Came the prompt reply, delivered so firmly that Ink just rolled her eyes. Within a few moments, the girls were seated around the table, Akira, Vanessa, and May each sharing a bottle of scotch the latter had brought from the Iceberg Lounge. Ink simply poured herself a glass of apple juice and made tea for Erin, who was still crying in her chair, albeit less dramatically now, and Wraith took no drink whatsoever. It was a general unspoken consensus that she wasn't going to be allowed a beverage just yet, given what all she had put the others through. Ink did, however, untie her, confident that she wouldn't be running off any time soon. Wraith didn't mention that she could have just as easily turned insubstantial and run if she felt the need; after all, she still didn't feel completely ready to come back.

_But we need to. _Guen's gentle voice reminded her. _Friends deserve the truth. And I think we've been hiding long enough._

"Okay," Akira spoke up once they had all been seated with something to sip at, "Spill it. All of it."  
"Akira—" Erin started to say.

"No, she's right," Wraith sighed heavily. "You guys deserve the truth. But where to start…"

She paused and the kitchen fell silent, save for a couple of pointed coughs and a last couple sobs on Erin's part. At last, she thought back to what would make the most sense to all of them, and let out a ragged sigh.

"Do you guys remember how I lost my scythe at Dorian and Milo's old lab?" She asked, and when the others gave slow, vague nods, she explained, "I thought it was gone forever. And Guen and I were scared, you guys. _Really_ scared. Seeing Roland Daggett pay Milo's bail didn't help that any. Actually, that was the night this all happened. I had been watching the news, saw Milo come out of the courthouse, saw Daggett there…It was just me at the apartment. I don't know what Incubus was out doing and I don't remember what Mom left for. But she must have left the door unlocked or something, because I wasn't alone."

She pulled out the handlepiece of her scythe, taking care to point it away from everyone, depressed on the lever, and the scythe unfolded, opening with a loud ring of unsheathing metal. Erin jumped noticeably, but the other girls leaned in, curious, and Wraith slowly tilted the weapon, angling the blade so they could better see the twin colors of the metal.

"He offered me training and protection, you guys. Sort of a father-daughter partnership in the Rogues' Gallery. He had already talked to me once before the anniversary party at the Lounge, and he visited me again while I was there that night, in my mom's apartment. He hadn't just found my scythe, he'd had it repaired into this." She explained.

"Harvey Dent? Two-Face?" Akira said in disbelief. "Girl, I'd almost ask if you're crazy, but I already know the answer to that one."

"H-Harvey's not a totally bad guy." Erin piped up. "After all, he _was_ the district attorney for a long time."  
"Erin's right," Wraith confirmed. "Guen gets along okay with Harvey, and Papa Bear and I are just two peas in a pod, if you don't mind the comparison."

"Now that you bring it up," May said slowly, arching an eyebrow, "There _are_ a surprising amount of traits that you and Dent have in common, honey."

"I can kinda see it." Ink said with a nod, blonde ponytail bouncing. "So what happened next?"

"I said yes to him, of course," Wraith replied, "Protection from Milo and Dorian, _and_ actual training? How could I say no to that?"

"But you didn't tell anyone." Vanessa said from the opposite end of the table in a voice that was carefully neutral. Wraith glanced up at her, furrowing her brow. It was unusual for Magpie to be so quiet, especially when she was in the same room as Banshee. The two usually bounced their energy off each other. Maybe she was having a rough day? If that was the case, Wraith couldn't blame her, and this reunion was probably hurting as much as it was helping.

"No, I didn't," she answered. "He asked me not to tell anyone. He gave me the option of leaving a note for Mom, but I figured Incubus would just as easily take that to Batman and the two of them would find us. I guess it wasn't an order; I could have told you guys at some point, but I just couldn't bring myself to, for some reason or another. I knew you guys were going to be mad—"

"All the more reason to have told us in the first place!" Akira argued.

"If I'd told you right from the start," Wraith pointed out, "The majority of you would have stopped me from going in the first place. Am I right?" And when none of them answered, she gave a smug nod. "Uh-huh, called it."

"You still could have told us more in a message than just 'patience, soon,' also!" Vanessa snapped, drawing the attention of the other girls, who stared at him.

"Calm down, sweetheart," May tried to cool her down, "We're here to put that bit behind us."

There was an odd edge to her tone when she addressed Magpie, one that Wraith made a note of. She'd have to think more on that later; there definitely appeared to be something happening between the lines with her friends.

"It's okay, T.D," she spoke up, "I don't blame any of you for being angry, and honestly, I really should have put more in the note."

"I FORGIVE YOU!" Erin cried, throwing herself across her friend's shoulders, sobbing renewed. Wraith gave a weary chuckle and hugged her back.

"I'm sorry, girls. Really, I am, and so is Guen. We've both missed you, all of you. And we shouldn't have hid."

"I dunno," Akira's tone was wary, "You're rollin' with Two-Face now. I think that's reason enough to keep a lid on it. After all, the guy makes most of his big life choices with a coin."

"I could always have picked Scarface and Mr. Wesker." Wraith pointed out.

"Wesker's a nice person!" Ink protested.

"Scarface?" May said with a wince. "I think she's got a good point, ladies."

"C-come on, you guys!" Erin blubbered and sobbed, spreading one of her arms wide, "G-group h-huh-huuuuuuggg! Our family's back together again!"

"Awww, yay!" Ink said, going to Wraith's other side.

"Truer words, and all that," May smiled, joining them.

"Aww, what the hell." Akira shrugged, tackling them all and giving them a giant squeeze.

"Aww, you guys!" Wraith laughed, turning a smile to Vanessa, "Come on, Mags, I can still breathe over here."

But Vanessa didn't move. She stayed where she was for a moment, eyebrows slowly starting to narrow as she glared, her expression somewhere between hurt and anger, and her jaw slowly working. Finally she stood, but she made no move toward them.

"Need to go out for a bit. Get a breath of fresh air." She muttered as she turned on her heel and sped out the door. Wraith's eyebrows shot up as she watched her friend go, stunned into silence. Erin, Akira, and May all quickly exchanged worried, furtive looks, torn.

"Whoa…what's wrong with Magpie?" Wraith asked, oblivious.

* * *

The cover of night had long since set over the city of Gotham, but despite the darkness, the glow of street lamps and signs continued to light the way for the weary inhabitants. But within an apartment off Elm and Canterlon, there were no lights on, save for the faint glow of a television screen. It was paused on a news broadcast, though not one from that day. The viewer studied the screen, dark eyes raking back and forth over the image, taking in every detail of the young woman and her hulking companion.

The moron in the inaccurate Egyptian attire was nothing, save perhaps a minor speed bump. From what he could tell in the broadcast, the man was a complete imbecile, and loyal to her commands to a fault. Someone as easily manipulated as that, however powerful or strong, was hardly a threat. No, it was the girl herself he was interested in; it was she he had always been interested in.

Her wings had grown again. Still no evidence as to what triggered the reactions that caused the growth, and that was painfully infuriating to him! And as if that weren't bad enough by itself, her split-personality was still just as dominant as ever, and that probably meant Wraith was still up to the task of killing him, should he get too close. He clicked his tongue, thinking hard. This was going to be a challenge, as she had always been, and to make matters worse, he had the distinct impression her list of allies among the Rogues had grown.

"But I've still got one thing in my favor, Guenhivyre," he said quietly to the image on the screen, "You've played the first card. You came back publically. I'm beginning to wonder if you wanted me to know."

His cell phone began to ring, the screen lighting up, and he glared at it for a second before opening the device.

"What?!" He snapped.

"Come now, Achilles, that's hardly a proper greeting."

"Emile, it's almost one-thirty." He retorted coolly with a glance at his watch.

"How are you enjoying the game, Achilles?" Dorian simply spoke over him, his smooth voice sounding almost twice as powerful over the phone.

"I'm still unsure why you're calling this a—"

"Oh, but it _is_ a game, my dear boy. A race against time, trapped in a deadly maze. The question is…who will come out alive, and of those, who wins in the end?"

"You've got no stake in this, old man." He spat. "You've got your damned cat monster and a werewolf with family money. You stand nothing to gain in this…this hunt."

"Game, Achilles. It's a game. And don't go making statements you're unable to verify. Or do you forget that I never reveal all of my true intentions to you?"

He growled, unable to form words in his anger.

"That's a good boy," Dorian said, using his most sweet, condescending tone, "Now, if you're going to play this game, I'd recommend you talk to one of the key players sooner or later."

"What are you talking about? This is between—"

"Oh, no no. I'm afraid there is one other individual who is eager to stake a claim in this race. And I've already spoken with him. I would recommend you do the same, but tomorrow. After all, it's an unreasonable hour."

"Imagine that." He quipped.

"I'll have his information sent to your phone in the morning, so you can call. Oh, and Achilles?"

"What?" He growled.

"I've suffered far too much disappointment from you, both as an ally and an adversary in the past," Dorian said coolly, "Do try not to make this too easy for me, would you?"

He might have had more to say, he might not have. But regardless of one way or the other, his voice was cut off abruptly as Professor Milo slammed the phone shut.


	10. Chapter 9: Dungeonmaster Rising

**A/N: Since I uploaded all of "Freaky Love" here on FFNet, I decided I might as well start uploading "Freaky Family" here as well. I'm going to finish posting all of the chapters I've completed, then I shall start uploading each chapter as I finish them. All OCs that are used are credited back to their creators in the copy of this chapter in my deviantArt gallery. R&R please!**

* * *

Chapter 9: Dungeonmaster Rising

Guen swallowed nervously, trying to wipe some of the clamminess away from her hands as she looked up at the door, wondering whether or not she ought to really go through with this. Instantly the doubt was rebuked by Wraith in the back of her mind, who fervently insisted that they weren't getting out of this one. A friend was a friend, and if they had really done something by leaving to upset Magpie, then by God, they had to fix it. Still…something about the whole situation just didn't quite click.

And if it didn't click, she didn't feel like playing entirely by the rules.

She brought her wrists together, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the ringing sound before the familiar sensation of weightlessness hit her again, and she watched as her arms became completely transparent. Except this time, there was something else to the transformation. Her insubstantial body seemed a touch more…smoky? Dark? Cloudy?

Guen shook her head. She was just imagining things, that was all. And without a second thought, she charged through the door, ghostly momentum slowed by splintering, aged wood. Once inside, she took a quick glance around, and on hearing voices in the distance, moved toward the shadowy corners of the room and stayed still. She hadn't been in any of Edward's hideouts before, and she wasn't familiar with the layout of the place, but her woman's intuition said Vanessa was here.

_Our gut, you mean._ Wraith remarked. _And right now, it's also saying that Eddy's not here either, so there wouldn't be any lackeys patrolling the place unless something's up, and I mean something big, or unless they're expecting him any time soon._

Guen winced, half-sliding into the wall as though trying to hide before she realized what she was doing and pulled back out_. I can't say I'm ready to face Eddy just yet. The girls, that's one thing. But him…_

_ AUGH!_ Wraith's voice was so loud in her thoughts she winced again, ghostly wings puffing behind her. _Pendragon, you aren't listening! What I'm saying is instead of hiding and skulking here like some creeper would do, we should get moving! Those are probably just a bunch of idiots Edward's hired, probably playing drunk craps or something and being loud._

She frowned, knowing her other personality was right. She really didn't have any reason to hesitate, so what was the point? She wasn't going to give herself away like a moron though, and she started moving again, keeping to the darker parts of the hideout so as not to be seen. She passed through several empty halls on the left before going down the fork to the right. Wraith had been right, in a sense. A lot of the lackeys were in one of the larger rooms, drinking and shouting, most of them engaged in a card game, and a handful of the rest were crowded around a television, most likely watching some sports game or some other. She scowled as she clung to the wall, crouching low in hopes she wouldn't be spotted. Vanessa, here? It seemed far too unlikely, but she'd learned by now that it paid off to listen to her women's intuition—

_Gut._ Wraith interrupted calmly.

—every once in a while. She shook her head, slipping further into the wall to avoid less notice. Gradually, she made her way across the room until she reached the door at the far wall and slipped through it, still unseen by any of the guys present. The hall beyond was dark and turned sharply to the left, where the only things at the end of the hall were a restroom door and a flight of carpeted stairs up to the second level. She felt a strange urge to beat her wings, to test out their abilities while insubstantial. Could they possibly carry her up to the second floor?

_Don't think it would work that way,_ Wraith interjected sourly, as though she too, had wanted to try the same thing, _I'm pretty sure they'd have to weigh more than we do right now, and the feathers probably need to be substantial for air to pass through them._

Guen scowled again, shaking her head and bounding up the stairs. _Sure, take all the fun and the mystery out of it._

_ Hey, I could go on and on about how we're constantly breaking the laws of physics when we ghost, but right now Mags is more important._

She had a point there. Guen made her way through the upper level, relying on instinct to try to find her friend. It wasn't easy; there were probably a good dozen or so doors on the second floor, and Vanessa could be in any one of the rooms, assuming most of them were real rooms. After all, in a hideout used by Edward Nygma, it was quite possible that any of these were traps or Riddler pranks cleverly disguised as doors. She wasn't certain why she worried, insubstantial as she was, but if there was one thing Two-Face had pounded into her head in the past two to three months, it was that you should never let your guard down. She slowed her pace, straining her ears to try to hear any possible sound that could provide a clue.

There came a loud crash from behind one of the doors, followed by a choice string of swearing in a distinctly English accent.

"Well, that was easy." She muttered, bracing herself. In one fluid motion, she passed through the door, and on the other side, brought her wristbands together once more with a ringing tone. Magpie had been standing with her back to the older girl, face turned down, but she jumped at the noise and spun around, blue eyes wide and startled.

"Hey, Nessa."

The younger girl's face twisted in an angry scowl, but she managed to keep an even tone as she answered with a cool, "Hey."

"Listen," Guen said, a touch awkwardly, "I, uh…I wanted to talk to you." She got no response, so she swallowed and plowed on, "I just, uh…I kind of get the impression that, well…that you're not…exactly…happy…with me."

"Don't be daft," she said quickly, perhaps a touch too quickly, "Why'd I be tossed at you?"

"'Tossed?'" Guen echoed, arching an eyebrow, but Magpie went on, ignoring her.

"After all, you're back now and what, so I don't have a reason to get my knickers in a twist." She said innocently, stooping down to pick up the shattered remnants of whatever it was that she had dropped on the floor. "Though I can't say as I was expecting you to go and pop up in my doorway out of the blue."

"Uh, Magpie?" She interjected, starting to feel slightly irritated, "I'm three years older than you. And I kind of know a thing or two more about mood swings than you do. And you're upset with me."

Vanessa immediately went rigid, pink bangs bouncing as she straightened up, and she stared at her winged friend, shocked and rapidly turning pink.

"Come on, why can't you just tell me what it is? Just talk to me already," Guen pleaded, spreading her arms, " We're friends, and if I've done something to upset you, I'd rather you tell me, so I don't do it to you again. Come on, this can't just be about me leaving. I know I upset a lot of people, but…"

"Stuff it." Magpie muttered, and before Guen could do anything to stop her, she bounded across the room, threw open the window, and dropped out of sight.

"MAGPIE!" Guen shrieked, running until her midriff hit the windowpane, leaning halfway out the opening and looking around for her friend. It was no use. Magpie had quite effectively vanished, and God knew where she'd gone to.

"Fudge bucket!" She muttered, slamming her fist against the wall. She stayed there for a long time, not bothering to make herself scarce until she heard voices shouting from the first floor to check on Magpie.

"This day just keeps getting so peachy keen." She spat, leaping from the open window to the next roof over. Fast as she could manage, she made her way back to the old hotel. Even with the annoying presence of Cassandra, it would be a lot better than hanging around here and waiting for Magpie to return. And perhaps Two-Face or The Mummy had some advice for her on how to handle this situation…

* * *

Ramsey wasn't _quite_ sure how he had ended up in this particular predicament. After all, a fellow that was minding his own business, not doing anyone any harm, should be left to his own devices. Except things had not exactly worked out quite that way in this particular circumstance, and he had little hope that he could reason with his captors. For one thing, they were made of bright copper, and for another, no matter how many times he had tried to struggle free, they kept their grips on him, mindlessly following orders they wouldn't divulge. In the end, he decided it would be better to simply stop fighting and wait to see where he was being taken and what the purpose of this absolute impertinence was to serve.

The copper beasts were carting him tirelessly in the direction of Gotham Bay, keeping to the dingiest back alleys they could find, and somehow escaping notice of everyone except the most unfortunate homeless that scurried away at their approach, watching with wide-eyed terror. Something stirred deep in Ramsey's chest at the sight. If he were in charge of this grim hole that dared compare itself to the glory of Egypt, there would be no such poverty. He would see New Egypt reborn, and the proper caste system restored. None such as these would go hungry or need or want ever again, not if he could help it.

He was half-considering ranting about this to his captors, so that someone could at least hear the glorious righteousness of his supreme majesty, when movement at the corner of one of the intersections between the buildings caught his eye. At first, he wasn't too sure of what he saw, but a moment later, he recognized her.

"Dear sweet Ptah! What brings a splendid and exquisite deity like yourself to this dismal hovel?" He called. The copper creatures paused to look at him, and the blonde-haired woman with the ink running from one eye trotted to catch up to them.

"Ramsey? What's going on? Are you okay?" She said warily, gaze shifting between the creatures that carried him.

"Alas, my pride has been grievously wounded," he sighed, "But beyond that, I am unharmed. These beasts are carting me off somewhere, doubtless to meet their esteemed master, who clearly must wish to pay homage to my shining magnificence!"

Ink raised her eyebrows, looking from The Mummy to the copper elves, which watched her with expressionless metal faces, and couldn't help but feel that Ramsey somehow wasn't quite looking at the situation from the same perspective she was.

"Okaaayyy…" she said slowly, watching the robots to see if they reacted, and when they remained stock-still, she nodded to Ramsey. "They don't seem to be taking you anywhere right now."

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid your irresistible radiance must have stunned them into submission, lovely Ptah." Ramsey huffed a sigh of what was clearly misplaced irritation before addressing the creatures, "Ah, you may resume."

Immediately the copper elves hefted him again and continued on their way, and Ink, still feeling a little uneasy by the whole thing, trailed along behind them at a small distance, much to Ramsey's delight and desire for a conversation.

* * *

Magpie waited until she saw Guen leave, then skittered away from the hideout in the opposite direction, eager to put as much distance between her and the older girl as she could. But after she had already gone a little more than a block and perched behind a chimneystack on a different roof, she began to think about what had just occurred. She knew Guen; the winged girl was being sincere. She honestly wanted to know what Vanessa was so upset about, so she could fix the situation. But then, what did that mean? Was she completely clueless about this whole thing with Eddy?

"_Bollocks_!" She spat, kicking at broken pieces of shale. "How could she not know?"

But then again…what if she didn't? Vanessa had said almost more than three months ago at Guen and Ink's slumber party that she liked Eddy. Guen had been there for that, so she knew that much.

But what if she didn't know how The Riddler had reacted to her disappearance?

Magpie grumbled in frustration, pulling at handfuls of her dyed hair. She wished Akira or Ink or May or Erin were there for her to talk to, to get advice from. Akira at least, would let her rant. Erin would probably let her rant, but given the redhead's state lately, she would be more likely to break down into tears about the whole thing. Ink was always great for playing the responsible older sister…but the more she considered that possibility, she wasn't sure what sort of advice the blonde girl would give her. That left May. May would at least keep her cool about the whole thing, like she always did. But she was also equally likely to skirt around telling Vanessa the best way to handle the problem and just pump her full of vodkashakes until she tried tying her shoelaces with an orange peeler.

"Ugh! I have no one to talk to!" She groaned, exasperated.

"Aww, that's too bad, sweetie," a familiar voice said, somewhere behind her, "I was going to ask if you were up for a little chat, considering I just got here."

She twisted around, only half-surprised to see a familiar masked face grinning at her from over the rise of the chimneystack.

"Y'know, if I didn't know any better, Rags, I'd say you were followin' me around." She remarked carefully, raising her eyebrows. Ragdoll faked a simpering pout in response as he folded—she didn't think there was any other way to properly describe the motion—down to sit next to her.

"Aww, Magpie, that really stings!" He said in a voice that sounded more amused than hurt, "You know me, I'm a nice guy! I just happened to be in the neighborhood, around this rooftop, and when I saw you over here, I thought you looked a little down! And better to have me cheer you up than the Joker, eh?"

"So does that bag of pearls have anything to do with 'just being in the neighborhood,' or are you being tailed by the boys in blue?" She asked.

"I was going to take them to my dear old mother, but then I remembered she doesn't live here. And don't worry, doll-face, the Gotham police never think to check the ventilation systems. I shook them off."

"At least that's one thing I don't have stress about." She said with a sigh, leaning back.

"So what are you stressing over?" He asked, reaching into the leather bag that hung from his thin shoulder and withdrawing a long pearl necklace. Gingerly, he lifted it over her head and let it fall in place. "We're friends, aren't we? Come on, you did say you need someone to talk to."

"I said I don't have anyone to talk to." She corrected, though she couldn't quite hide the smile that was creeping onto her face.

"Same difference," he said with a shrug, "One implies the other."

She let out another sigh, this one heavy and drawn-out, and she shut her eyes.

"Have you…have you ever liked someone, only to find out they like one of your best mates instead?" She asked.

"Numerous times." He answered with a solemn nod. "It's not exactly easy to find a lady interested in you when you're the triple-jointed freak of a wingman."

"You're somebody's wingman?"

"On occasion."

"I'd think that ladies would be keen on a guy as flexible as you."

He gave her a look she couldn't quite read, half-hidden by his mask as it was, then shrugged helplessly, splaying his hands.

"So…" she said slowly, hoping to get back on-topic, "What've you done when that happens? When you like somebody and they like your best mate?"

"I give it up as a lost cause," he answered simply, "Occasionally I'll go out for a few drinks first, then when the hangover hits, I just give it up, move on, try to find someone else."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It just sort of becomes a routine after it happens to you a lot."

Silence fell over them, and she touched the string of pearls, running her fingers over and over the smooth surface, thinking hard. She didn't trust very many people, and she was hesitant to tell him more, but she got the feeling Ragdoll was being sincere with her. Still…

"Promise you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say to you?" She asked.

"Thief's honor." He answered with his most charming smile, and she took a deep breath, held it in for a moment, and let it out in a tirade that she'd been holding in.

"I've really really liked Edward for a long time now and I don't think he's ever caught on because I've never had the guts to tell him, but all my best mates know I like him, and just recently I learned he's got it bad for Guen, but I don't know if she knows it, and none of us know if she likes him back or not, and I just all but shoved her away when she tried to talk to me and ARGH! Bloody hell, things have just been a wreck since she left and came back and this all happened!"

The silence came over them again, this time with a distinctly awkward atmosphere, and she felt her face go quite hot as Ragdoll watched her. But it didn't last long before he spoke up.

"Sounds to me like you're not quite sure what you want or not." He said. "Sounds a little bit like running away from the problem too, if you ask me. Then again, we're thieves. Running is what we do best."

"But that doesn't have anything to do with a friendship problem!"

"Hey, do I _look_ like some guru Princess Skittle-Hair uni-pega-pony here?" He asked, gesturing to his patchwork costume. "I don't have all the answers, sweetheart. I'm just ruggedly handsome."

She grinned in spite of herself and let out a small chuckle.

"Fair enough." She answered, offering him a warm, genuine smile that made her cheeks go even hotter. "Thanks for listening anyway, Rags. I think you helped me answer my own question anyhow."

* * *

Gary Myers slowly removed his glasses, taking a long moment to clean the lenses, before replacing them upon his long, sloped nose and meticulously adjusting them. His drow automatons, all four, had returned with two different men in tow, and he knew in that instant, he was going to have to reset their command parameters.

"I said we need a damsel in distress for this job. You brought me Bruce Wayne," he said to the first set before turning to the second, "And some crack head in need of a haircut and some serious remedial Egyptology classes."

"Hey, Rams isn't a crack head! You're being really rude!" Came an indignant voice from a few feet behind the automatons. Ahh, that was right. He thought he had seen a girl come in behind the automatons. He waved for the drow to part, then approached the young woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than he, a few inches shorter, with wavy blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a left eye that was a pleasant shade of blue, and a right eye that was a glistening black pool of…well, what appeared to be ink, considering it was trickling perpetually from her tear ducts and running down to clot at the collar of her gray hoodie.

"Interesting." He remarked, tilting his glasses slightly as he peered at her. "You're a patient at Arkham, aren't you?"

She clamped her mouth shut, studying him with such a scrutinizing gaze that he was reminded forcibly of his mother, and he let out a somewhat irritated sigh.

"Very well," He went on, somewhat mollified, "I apologize for my remark about your friend. Really, this entire thing looks rather poor from my perspective."

At that she relaxed a bit, and he slowly walked in a circle around her, humming to himself. The action must have upset the guy in the ridiculous mummy get-up, as he started shouting something incomprehensible behind his gag and kicking his feet wildly, but Gary wasn't too overly concerned. His automatons were built for some decent durability if nothing else, and would hold their grips. He finished his circle, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and the girl raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

"What?" She asked.

"Hmm? Oh, don't mind me. I was just wondering, what exactly can you _do_?"

"What can I do?" She said testily, and he gave a heavy nod, hoping she'd catch on. Thankfully, she seemed to understand exactly what he was aiming toward, and she raised a hand, looking to the gagged guy in the linen bandages. His shining black gag flew off his mouth with enough force it caused him to recoil, gasping, and the black substance flew to the girl's outstretched hand.

"I thought he might get himself in trouble if he started talking right away." She said with a slight nervous chuckle, looking slightly guilty, and the man burst into a tirade.

"Of all the audacity! Insults against my person are one thing, but how _dare_ you speak to the goddess Ptah in so familiar a manner!" He roared, "You sir, shall be smote by the holy fires of Lord Ra where you stand! Your body shall be left on display for the carrion eaters of the sky to pick clean! You—"

The black inky substance flew from its perch on the girl's hand and affixed itself back into place over the huge man's mouth, cutting off his rant, and Gary arched an eyebrow at her.

"Might get himself in trouble, huh? What's your name?"

"Ink!" She said brightly, pointing to the trail of the stuff oozing out of her eye, and he almost groaned at how obvious that was. Still, despite her abilities with her…ink, she had a personality that seemed relatively harmless enough. And in order to avoid doing anything that might upset her and result in one of his ribs being broken, what was the harm in asking for her help?

"Tell you what, Ink," he said with a smile, "What I'm trying to do here is set up a game for Gotham PD and the Batman. And I could really use your help."

"What kind of game?" She asked, frowning. "You aren't planning on hurting anyone, are you?"

So she was sharper than she let on! That was a refreshing addition.

"I'm quite glad you're interested!" He said brightly. "You see, it's always been my dream to run with the big names; Joker, Poison Ivy, Two-Face, the Mad Hatter, the Scarecrow…but I'm just a nobody right now. Then it hit me: there are three of the world's most brilliant minds, right here in Gotham! The Batman, The Riddler…and myself. So why not use my genius to my advantage?"

She worked her face into a neutral expression, showing mild, polite interest.

"Sounds reasonable." She offered.

"Precisely!" He agreed, "And as such, since the Batman and the Riddler have brilliant gimmicks, I need one too. And mine is my game! The Dungeonmaster has to bring some structure to the chaotic game of Gotham City! But in order for that to happen, I've got to get my name out there, and what better way than to find a damsel in distress for the city's heroes to rescue, and the media to capture it all on film?"

"So…kind of like a medieval knights rescuing the princess thing?"

"That was the intent. Although my automaton drow need their parameters tweaked a bit. And that's where I need your help! One of the other essential parts of the game is that it requires memorable NPCs, Non-Player Characters, that can give assistance to the players."

"So you want me to be an NPC-thingy?" She asked.

"If you're alright with that. You're pretty much going to wait in one spot for Batman and the police to arrive, and then when they show up, you help them by acting as a guide." He explained. Her eyes flicked over to Bruce Wayne for a brief second, and she seemed to ponder hard on the offer before her face finally beamed.

"Sure! It sounds like fun! As long as I don't have to hurt any of the heroes!"

"Perish the thought, Ink." He said, shoulders relaxing, and turned to face Bruce Wayne, stroking his chin again. "You've been awfully quiet this whole time, Mr. Wayne."

"I didn't think it was a wise idea to try antagonizing my kidnapper."

"Hmm. There's no way I'm the first person to ever kidnap you."

"Look," the billionaire said, skirting around the hidden question in his statement, "I'll uh…I'll cut you a check if you let me go."

"I'm not sure about that, Mr. Wayne." He said, shaking his head slowly. "I'm not in this for monetary profit, I just want some recognition. Besides, between you and the reject Cairo diva over there, you're looking' to be my best option for a damsel in distress."

"Surely the sound of one million dollars in your bank account is worth more than all this trouble?" Bruce said in an enticing voice and Gary winced.

"I won't deny that it does sound nice, Wayne. Money like that could not only pay off my mother's mortgage and medical bills, but my debt too. _Believe_ me, I could use a check like that." He said with a sigh, before glaring in irritation. "But I've already come this far, and I'm close to my goal. I never give up the game without a fair roll."

He withdrew a twenty-sided die from a pocket and held it up for everyone to see.

"For the game." He said slowly, and he bounced the die from his hand, where it hit the tiled floor, bounced a few feet away, and rolled to a stop against the wall. Hesitantly, Gary approached it, kneeling down to get a better look.

"Seventeen." He said with a sigh of relief, scooping the die up in his hand. "The game goes on."

He turned to face them all, wide eyes staring at him, and he smiled coldly.

"All that's left is to set it in motion and alert the players."


End file.
